Two years into the pandemic, the “flight from urban centers” news cycle has gone through countless iterations. Are we still fleeing cities at this point? Or returning to them starved for office happy hours and morning commutes?

I haven’t been keeping up, so I can’t be entirely sure. However, one thing that is clear to me is that the pandemic really has forced a rest on our “default settings.” For many people this period of questioning has included wondering whether big city life — and all its attendant spontaneity, creativity, but also exorbitant rent and crowds—is really still worth it.

As someone who fled a decade of city life early on the pandemic (May 2020), I’ve been reflecting on what I’ve learned in the 18 months or so since I left. What I miss, what I don’t, what I can’t believe I used to think was normal. I have no regrets about leaving, and overall I’m grateful that this historic, world-shattering event forced me to make a change that, otherwise, I might’ve not made for another five years or so.

In conversations with city-dwelling friends since, many have been pondering making the same shift. I think the fundamental two-part question one must ask themselves when considering whether to stay or go is this: What purpose is the city serving? And is that purpose still worth the cost you’re paying for it?

For many ambitious, creative people starting out in their careers, moving to a big city is an absolute no-brainer. It certainly was for me. I wanted the opportunities, the chance encounters, the boundless inspiration, creative material, and ease of access to the venues, people, and companies I dreamed of being associated with. I wanted to meet friends, lovers, and frenemies who all wanted the same thing. In short, I wanted to be in the thick of it — in fact I needed to in order to build the career I’d dreamed of.

This made a lot of sense at 21 years old, and I did it all. I lived in the shoebox bedrooms, ate toast for dinner so I could afford to go out for drinks, went out on Tuesday nights to some gig or show or opening that so-and-so’s friend was having even though I was way too tired. But slowly, over the period of a decade, as my career progressed and I achieved much of what I set out to, I stopped doing those things. I stayed home a lot more with my then-partner. I had friends come over instead of going out. I spent my weekends recovering from the workweek rather than going out to seek inspiration.

That’s absolutely fine. In fact, I think it’s called getting older. But what I didn’t realize until I left a big city is just how much extra I was paying facilitate those changed priorities. The big selling point that city life once had for me—the thing that warranted the shitty apartments, or wildly expensive ones, or both—was no longer that compelling to me. At yet, I was still paying that premium, and preventing myself from pursuing other things in the process. Living in a huge city had simply become my default setting, and sheer inertia meant I didn’t interrogate whether that was what I actually still wanted.

When I moved, I realized all the things I now wanted that city life wasn’t really offering me: My own garden. An opportunity not to work so hard, because I didn’t have to earn so much damn money to keep it all going. More time to spend in nature. A smaller sense of community. More space. I got all those things, and spent a lot less to get them, so it just made sense.

Now, I’m not suggesting that this will be the trajectory of every 30 or 40-something who once loved living in the city. Some jobs really do require you to be located in a city, and if you love that job, then your city premium may be worth it. Other people may value galleries and museums more than I value having a garden, and that’s absolutely okay. Still others may find those authentic and deep community ties in their urban neighborhood, and have no desire to go elsewhere to replicate it. Good for them.

What I am saying is that staying in a city simply because it’s your default setting is an extremely expensive choice to make. It’s worth considering what you’re gaining, and what you’re giving up, when you’re deciding what to do next.