What It Means To 'Live' In A Place

And does it actually matter?

Maybe I think about seemingly mundane (and not-so-mundane) shit way too much.

I know I drive myself crazy doing this. Sometimes I wish I could just ignore thoughts that wander and entrench themselves in complicated gray—and often sensitive—areas. I can become obsessed with pondering such things.

Because—ultimately—in the grand scheme of things, does any of it even matter? Especially if it’s in the past, out of your control or otherwise unanswerable or resolvable.

For example, I recently wrote a newsletter post—and expanded on it in a Medium article—about how I wish some digital nomads, in particular, would stop saying they have lived in a place when they really—by the true definition of the word—never actually lived there.

How Much Time Do You Need In A Place Before You Can Say You "Lived" There?

To be clear, my primary issue with this line of thinking is how travel influencers and relatively short-stay digital nomads can disproportionately help shape how people view cities.

Does it matter if a handful of people say I “lived” somewhere and this is how it is, even if they never actually lived there and that’s not how it is?

The answer—as with most questions is yes and no.

Taking yes and no at the same time—

I am all for people having experiences. And having them however they want.

I know a ton of people who visit a place on an itinerary. Like down to the minute. They schedule breakfast, tourist attractions, lunch, an art museum visit, dinner and lingering in the plaza before relaxing in the hotel the way a CEO might schedule a day of “back to backs.”

This isn’t how I like to travel. And I’ll admit, it’s funny—even borderline annoying—to watch throngs of tourists scurrying from place to place as to stay on schedule. But, ultimately, if you’re having a good time, I end up with a smile on my face. I am just not going to spend much time standing in line with you or waiting to get to the front of the pack to take the perfect photo.

No harm, no foul.

Until, of course, communities are overrun with over-tourism. On one hand, many of these places count on it for their individual and collective livelihoods, if not economic prosperity. On the other hand, enough is enough.

• No harm—live and let live.

• No foul—until the shit hits the fan, as appears to be happening, particularly in parts of Europe.

There’s a similar dynamic at play when we think about what it means to “live” in a place and how your conception of this contributes to something bigger and more meaningful.

Ultimately, does it matter if a subset of people decide they’re going to move from place to place, experiencing each one for a relatively short period of time? On the surface, it doesn’t feel this way to me. And most people who live this way do so with the best of intentions and, in most of those cases, righteous follow-through.

However, a large enough subset of people experience a place, say they lived in it and then contribute to the larger sense of what it’s like to live in a place.

This is what bothers me. And I think it’s an issue in the larger scheme of things.

In response to the above-mentioned Medium article, somebody made a genuine and legitimate comment, part of which hurt my feelings. However, I saw where she was coming from when she said—

I am curious why you feel the need to elevate your motives above others. Everybody has their own unique experience and motives.

Obviously I don’t want to come off this way. And I regret that I did to her and likely to others.

As this newsletter illustrates, my motives for moving to Spain in January are multifaceted. Within the context of my life and how I want to live the rest of it, it’s an incredibly serious endeavor. A journey I can’t wait to embark on.

I know that many people who decide to be digital nomads—however they choose to do it—feel exactly the same way about what they’re doing. As they should. I’m not against this.

What I am against is the reality we live in where we open up Instagram and see people posting from places where they’re creating and controlling narratives around what it’s like to live there.

Again, maybe I think too much. Maybe I need to chill. I consider this all of the time as thoughts and ruminations rattle around my head.

This said, given everything that’s happening in cities around the world and what people are saying (often falsely) about these places, I do think we need to be very careful about who we listen to. About who we let shape the narratives around what cities are like as places to live.

• How do locals feel about tourists, expats and immigrants?

• What’s really happening in the housing market?

• What does gentrification actually look like on the ground?

These are serious questions with real-life consequences for many of us that shouldn’t be thinly answered by a handful of digital nomads and social media influencers.

I care deeply about the experience of living in cities. And it’s part of why I want to move to a great one. To be a part of the community and accumulate the experiences that lead to real knowledge about what it’s like to live in a place.

As I noted in that Medium article—

When I lived in San Francisco, particularly The City’s Mission District until 2006, I worried that some locals would classify me as a gentrifier.

Looking back, I regret letting myself feel this distinctly urban stress.

Not only was I not a gentrifier, but, for fuck sake, I was a local. And, more importantly, I was a member of the community to a meaningful extent.

Every single day for two years, my daughter and I walked the Mission and surrounding neighborhoods. Her in the stroller from the age of a few months to just past two. And me pushing that thing across streets, around corners, up and down hills and over light rail tracks.

Every time we went to Holey Bagel in Noe Valley, the person behind the counter would give my daughter a free mini bagel to gnaw on.

The guy at the corner store always made an “extra” of the sandwich I liked to ensure it was there for me.

I rooted for and supported him and his family when they expanded into the juice business.

We were among the first guests at the original locations of Tartine Bakery and Ritual Coffee. Both have become local institutions.

Neighbors would have conversations with us from their front steps and while peering outside from an upstairs window.

We knew the mail carrier. In fact, she was our next door neighbor and babysat my daughter on days when I had class.

I could go on all day about the things I remember (as I reminisce about a time when my 20-year old was barely two). I could likely go on for another day or two with all of the little things I can’t instantly recall.

The little things that accumulate and crescendo into the experience of actually living in a place.

And we lived where we lived because we could afford it. We picked the place we picked as to not have to overpay. Because we weren’t wealthy tech workers coming in to half-ass being part of the community or reject the intention altogether.

We lived in our neighborhood. When we moved, I cried. We weren’t merely passing through.

I lived in San Francisco for 7 years. I have lived in LA for 16.

I take seriously the little things that accumulate and crescendo into the experience of actually living in a place.

People who love the cities they live in feel like they have something to protect.

Once enough people stop feeling this way—and we’re seeing this play out in real time in LA—there’s trouble.

So I walk the fine line of wanting to move to one of these cities that still has something to protect and truly live there. Not only live there, but, most likely, die there. And, given the almost incomprehensible nuance in this conversation full of questions we’ll likely never be able to answer, I spend a ton of time thinking about the role I’ll play as an outsider.

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Me, living in Paris