I Left D.C. After 13 Years, to Return to My Hometown at 34, & Now I’m Scouting What's Next

My last night in Washington, D.C. on March 30, 2024 with my brother at my favorite neighborhood hangout, The Line Hotel in Adams Morgan.

On March 30, 2024, I packed a U-Haul, left behind 470 square feet in D.C., and drove toward a hometown I hadn’t lived in since I was a teenager.

What I found wasn’t quite what I expected—and, in some ways, exactly what I had anticipated.

I started my career in Washington, D.C. I made friendships and outgrew friendships. I had boyfriends, flings, late nights out, and mornings spent weaving through the streets, discovering and rediscovering favorite restaurants and coffee shops. I lived through the end of Obama’s presidency, saw Trump rise, watched the pandemic empty the city and leave me lonelier than I’d ever felt, then watched Trump fall. After that, the declining years set in—friends moved away during the pandemic, and the city, honestly, never felt the same. It became a place I stayed because of work, not because it felt like home.

What “Home” Really Means

And what is home, really? It isn’t an apartment or a city, or even a house. It’s community and connection—and that was something I had in handfuls when I first moved here, but which slowly drained away through job changes, friends moving, marriages, kids, and—frankly—the expensive nature of life in this city (groceries for the month or tennis lessons? food wins every time).

So when I left, I felt a mix of shock—how quickly time flies—sadness, and, in a way, relief. At 34 (a few months’ shy of 35), I had made the decision to move back to my hometown of Bethlehem, PA.

Returning to My Hometown at 34

This move was made possible by a career change back into the travel industry in a remote content marketing role—something I’d been working toward for several years. The position came with a decrease in pay (worth it), and the acceptance of something that had become increasingly clear: none of the jobs I’d been applying for over the past six months were in the DMV. There had been interviews for roles in Hawaii, Boston, Atlanta, and Boulder (apparently, anywhere but D.C.). And I was excited about the prospect of change.

So much so, that I was a little disappointed the position I ended up securing was remote. It didn’t force me into a move, leaving me in the driver’s seat of where my next city would be (ugh, please make my decisions for me, life!). But with this new role—and after one or two more behemoth cockroaches in my apartment—I decided to move on. Back to my hometown, with my parents, to save money and plot my next steps.

So back I came, rolling in with that U-Haul on the last day of March 2024. I unpacked, took over a room in my parents’ house (not my childhood one—at least I avoided that cliché), and promptly lost sight of my original goals to save money and search for “home number two.” Instead, I reconnected with elementary school friends, took up tennis, made new friends, dated, spent money instead of saving it, and even started looking at apartments and townhomes—before a sudden panic hit me: wait, hold the hell up. What am I doing?

The Lessons of Moving Back Home

Was I here because it was right for me, or because it felt safe? Then came the end of a relationship, the end of a friendship (messy family dynamics included), and the realization that the version of myself here would remain small if I stayed. I would remain safe, but I wouldn’t be truly happy. Deep down, I’d know I had settled.

The hometown felt familiar, but it wasn’t my home. Not in the way that would let me flourish, thrive, and live fully. Still, the year and two months I spent here were necessary and worth it—if only to prove to myself that I hadn’t missed out on something by leaving years ago.

I was the only sibling to leave the area for work, and over the years in D.C. I often felt lonely when my brother or sister would call about weekends with my grandparents, or hang up to watch a movie with my parents (the kind of built-in community you can’t really replicate). That kind of security is priceless. But so is independence—the chance to build your own life and friendships. A part of me always wondered if I had missed something by not being home with everyone. That mystery was quickly solved. In some ways, yes—being closer to family is comforting and less lonely. But it has also been limiting.

Outgrowing a City (and Your Past Self)

No one in my circle here has ever left Bethlehem. Few have traveled abroad. Few care much about cultures, novels, restaurants, philosophy, or psychology the way I do. There’s little desire to explore—whether possibilities, side hustles, or new careers.

There’s a layer of stagnation that, for many, is a perfectly good life. But for me, it isn’t enough. I want more. I want to be interested and interesting. I want to see, do, taste, and grow. I want to be challenged and pushed forward. Here, I see comfort and security—but also regret if I stay.

And so, while I’m grateful I checked this box—returned and rediscovered a place I truly love—I also realized it’s a place I’m meant to leave, again, in search of my next home.

Scouting Cities: Philadelphia and Charlotte

And in this gratitude—and yes, fear—I’ve plotted my course for that next home with research, because I am that person. I will research every purchase, every decision, sometimes to the point of delay… longer than I care to admit. But by the time I finally commit, I’m usually glad I was so studious.

With the help of Google and ChatGPT, I came up with four categories of importance for my next city: affordability, a welcoming social and dating scene, strong culture and food opportunities, and the chance to invest in real estate. Bonus points: not too far from my hometown and family.

That research narrowed the list to three cities: Philadelphia, Charlotte, North Carolina, and Denver, Colorado. Denver is already off the list (I’ve been, and it’s not for me). With March 2026 as my target move date—and factoring in saving and international travel plans—I don’t have time to scout three cities. So it’s down to two: Philadelphia and Charlotte. Because the goal here at Field Guide to Living is progress, not perfection.

The Philly scout is coming up fast—this weekend—followed by Charlotte in mid-October. I’ve planned countless travel itineraries for work, friends, and family, but these feel entirely different. They’re not vacations; they are journeys to find home. That pressure alone made them harder to plan—where to stay, which neighborhoods to walk, what to do that would truly show me everyday life rather than just “cool” activities that don’t reflect reality.

Planning three days in each city felt like planning two weeks. The research, the time, the thoughtfulness—it surprised me how much effort it took. But of course, these aren’t weekend getaways. They’re explorations for belonging. They’re neighborhood patrols in search of signs of life—my future life, my future home.

Questions I’m Asking Myself When Scouting These Cities

So here are the questions I’m carrying with me into these weekends, these “city interviews,” in search of where I might root and flourish. Because scouting a city isn’t just about whether the cost of living adds up. It’s about standing on a block and asking: Can I see myself here?

• Culture & Curiosity: Are there bookstores, wine bars, indie theaters, local restaurants, art galleries? A place where Saturday doesn’t feel like the one before, where inspiration and connection are close at hand.

• Community & Connection: Do I feel welcomed by the people I meet—in coffee shops, on dating apps, or in professional circles? Is there a social fabric I can weave into, or will I always feel like an outsider?

• Lifestyle & Growth: Can I see myself becoming better here? More active, creative, curious? Or will it feel like a constant uphill battle?

• Accessibility & Proximity: Can I get back to Bethlehem easily for family weekends? How about airports for work trips or the next international adventure?

• Affordability & Investment: Does the rent—or one day, the mortgage—allow me to live fully and save? Are there neighborhoods where I could realistically buy within a few years?

  
  

I’m visiting Philadelphia and Charlotte with these questions in hand—and with an openness to being surprised. Maybe a neighborhood I’ve never heard of will feel instantly like home. Maybe a single Saturday conversation will change everything.

Because ultimately, I don’t just want a place to live. I want a place to grow into—and I’m searching for a place that feels like home.

If you want a template to help you find your next home, here’s the one I created for myself during my own search that I want to share. I know how overwhelming it can feel, but you’re not alone!