Moving Out of the City: What to Consider When Making the Jump

For the last 15 years, Baltimore has been more than just where I lived—it’s been the backdrop of my adulthood, my greatest love stories, my lifelong friendships, and the kind of growth that only comes from being rooted in a place that truly feels like home. I’ve walked nearly every corner of my favorite neighborhoods, with purpose and pride, always quick to defend it, always deeply grateful to call it home. So when we decided to move out of the city, it wasn’t a decision I took lightly. I knew deep down, long-term, we would eventually leave the city. As Paul and I took steps to blend our lives together, part of that was finding a space where this new version of our family would thrive. Paul never quite felt at home in the city, and over time, I began to realize that what felt right for me at the time wasn’t necessarily right for us and our family. The decision was made with a lot of thought, a little heartache, and an understanding that this move, at the end of the day, made the most sense for our family in this next chapter.

Moving Out of the City Is A Transition

I’d be lying if I said that leaving Baltimore hasn’t been a transition for me. I packed up a lifestyle, a rhythm, and a version of life I deeply loved and identified with for so long. For more background, refer to the blog post I wrote in 2021 about returning to Baltimore after a brief stint in Connecticut. The walkability, the liveliness, the nostalgia- they matter to me.

In the city, everything felt just a few blocks away: my favorite smoothie stop, our local restaurant favorites that always welcomed B with open arms, the farmer’s market, the waterfront, Starbucks, the park where my son could run, play, and make spontaneous friends. We built our days around movement and discovery—an impromptu ice cream purchase on the long way home from school, a quick stop at the grocery store to get the evening dinner essentials, or stroller walks that turned into hours of exploring. Life happened outside our front door, and we didn’t need to plan it. I will never take for granted that I seldom worried about city parking– walk, Uber, or bust.

I miss the accidental run-ins with friends while walking to dinner and the colorful chaos that made every day feel unique. I’ve identified as a city girl for so long, there’s a loss and shift of identity mixed in here. There’s a kind of grief that comes with leaving behind not just a place, but a way of life. And I’ve learned to honor that grief without letting it cloud the gratitude for where we are now.

The Shift: What I’m Learning Two Years After Moving Out of the City

First, I should mention, and I’ll expand later in this post, that we chose the town we moved to because it still offers many of the things I loved about city life: a lively main street, walkability in a different form, and a variety of easily accessible activities. We also value being able to get into Baltimore easily. I wasn’t ready to feel cut off from the city entirely, and having that connection close by has made the shift feel more like an expansion than a loss.

But there’s space here. Not just physically, but mentally. The stillness at night was a little jarring at first, but now, with a newborn, I’m deeply grateful for the quiet. We have a backyard, walking paths, and a peaceful cul-de-sac that’s allowed me to loosen my helicopter mom reigns. There are stars in the sky at night, and I don’t miss the Facebook group debates over “fireworks or gunshots?” (Though, for the record, our Community pages have their own brands of drama.)

We’re learning new routines and expanding our geography. Sure, I have to get in the car now to visit museums, farms, breweries, and other fun places—but I’m more inclined to adventure farther. And when it comes to others visiting us, it’s easier. Many of our friends left the city years ago, and our family lives out of state, so the parking, space, and lack of city traffic (you’re welcome, Mom) make a difference.

That said—there’s an adjustment curve. I’ve had to work harder to find my places: a go-to coffee shop, a hairstylist (yes, I still drive into the city for that), a restaurant that welcomes kids without feeling like a playroom. Friendships don’t materialize on your front steps in quite the same way. You have to put yourself out there more intentionally, and in your late 30s, working from home, that takes effort.

But little by little, we’re finding our rhythm. I’ve met some great local moms as B gets more involved in school, sports, and activities. We’ve discovered a few gems: a fun brewery with room for kids to be kids, a weekend farmer’s market that gives me Fells Point vibes, and coffee shops and parks that are just a short ride—or a “Christina walk”—away. And we’re still figuring it out. That’s the thing about transitions—they don’t click overnight. But I can feel the new roots beginning to take hold.

Practical Advice for Others Considering a Move Out of the City but Worried About the Transition

My biggest piece of advice is to consider why you live in the city—what you love about it—and evaluate whether that’s something you still want in your next chapter. When Paul and I decided the move was a go, we had a list of non-negotiables and nice-to-haves.

Walkability was at the top—sidewalks, walking paths, and destinations within reach. I needed that. I love being able to walk B to school, and that I can still take a midday walk without boredom (or lack of sidewalks). The walking looks a little different now—it’s more deliberate—but it’s still there.

We also wanted to be within driving distance of the family we do have here, and most of our friends. That helped us narrow down the counties we explored. If you have friends or family who’ve already left the city, start there.

And I wanted a neighborhood where we could connect organically with neighbors and families. Suburbia lends itself well to that. I wanted our kids to be able to walk or bike to a friend’s house, to feel part of a community. So I looked for neighborhoods with active associations, local events, and a sense of togetherness.

Other things to think about:

• Commute & access to essentials. If you or your partner still commutes to work—or if you have favorite services, doctors, or daycare providers, factor in drive time. Will it wear on you, or is it manageable a few times a week?
• School districts. Even if you don’t have kids (yet), schools can impact your plans and your home value. Do some research early. Talk to local parents if you can.
• Lifestyle and pace. Ask yourself: Do you thrive in hustle, or are you craving more ease? How far are you willing to drive for amenities? Will the slower pace feel freeing or frustrating? Does a lively main street matter to you?
• Diversity, culture, and inclusion. This was important for me. I wanted to be in a place that felt welcoming to all kinds of families and backgrounds. Demographics don’t tell the whole story, so look around, ask questions, and trust your gut.
• Healthcare and services. If you have ongoing medical needs, are planning to grow your family, or just like to have options, make sure you’re comfortable with the level of care nearby.
• Yard maintenance. The dream of a backyard is real—and so is the mowing, weeding, and leaf blowing that comes with it. Ask yourself how much time (or budget) you’re willing to spend keeping up with your outdoor space. It can be a joy or a job, depending on the season. We opted to go with a “less yard to take care of” space.

Most of all, think about the kind of daily life you want, not just the house. Where will your people gather? What will your Tuesday afternoons look like? How do you want your family to experience home?

Closing Thoughts

Leaving Baltimore wasn’t easy, but it was right. Not because the city stopped being home, but because we needed something different in this season. I’m learning that loving where you were doesn’t have to compete with loving where you are. Both can be true. I can hold onto the parts of Baltimore that shaped me while making space for the slower pace, quiet nights, and new beginnings here. We’re still finding our footing—but I’ve learned that home isn’t just about the address. It’s about the people you share it with, the life you build inside it, and the grace you give yourself to grow into it. And right now, this is the place we get to grow in. Together.