At 34, after years of climbing the ranks of a Wall Street law firm, I was burned out and deeply disconnected from the natural world.
Unsure of where I wanted to live, after leaving my job, I spent a year camping in the American West. During that trip, I visited Telluride, Colorado, and was immediately awed by the rose-emerald hues, toothy ridgelines, and elk herds roaming the valley.
It was the sort of place I often fantasized about escaping to, and it was easy to see why it’s routinely voted one of the best mountain towns in the US.
In early 2017, ready to settle in one spot, I moved to a valley just south of Telluride, certain I’d find a simpler, more connected way of life.
I enjoyed reconnecting to nature, but felt like something was missing
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At first, I was awash in the alpine paradise. Outside my front door, there were countless trails and 13,000-foot peaks to explore.
During winter, I admired magpies swooping in the snow, and savored the effort of chopping kindling and tending a fire. In spring, I was mesmerized by the aspen blooming green across the mountains and thrilled by the return of hibernating marmots.
The long days of summer burst with wildflowers and adventures along lichen-splotched ridgelines. And by fall, the aspens enthralled again, goldening against the sun’s low-hanging light. Living there, I couldn’t help but feel connected to the Earth’s natural cycles.
But by the end of my first year, I also found myself longing for New York City. For me, this area’s tight-knit community felt insular and hard to break into. Instead of being welcomed, I was often questioned about why I was there or how I’d found the place.
I also craved other aspects of my city life, like interacting with a broad range of people from different backgrounds on a regular basis — in a town with fewer than 200 residents with an economy driven by real estate and tourism, it felt like there was little diversity in the area’s population.
For years, I tried to put down roots without much luck
Courtesy of Allison Snyder
On the cusp of looking elsewhere for a new home, I began dating my now-husband, who’d lived there for almost 20 years. The relationship was a Band-Aid.
It not only gave me companionship, but once I was partnered with a “local,” I was more often welcomed by others. For the next five years, I tried hard to put down roots and cultivate connections.
Because most of my work was remote, I looked for other ways to engage through volunteering with the nearby Nordic ski team and a local mentorship program. I also worked part-time at a backcountry ski lodge. Although I met people with similar interests like trail running and mountain climbing, I didn’t find the lasting personal connections I’d hoped for.
An experience that encapsulated my struggle was my yearlong tenure in local government, where I was able to use my legal background.
Residents brought issues to my attention that I researched and worked to address — but what initially felt like appreciated work soon became frustrating.
I felt I was running into resistance to change and gendered dismissals, some unlike anything I’d ever experienced during my legal career in the male-dominated world of Wall Street. I ultimately resigned.
That effort, like every other effort to root myself, left me feeling more isolated.
But any time I considered leaving, I looked out the window or ventured to one of my favorite trails. Where else is this awe-inspiring? Where else can I run a loop through canyons this stunning? The answer was always, nowhere.
And during the pandemic, there was an influx of people fleeing more densely populated areas for small mountain towns like this one, making it even harder to consider leaving a place that was now so sought after.
Eventually, time away enabled me to let go
Courtesy of Allison Snyder
By 2023, I found myself regularly escaping town under the guise of work travel. After finding conferences in various cities, I’d extend the trip to explore, visit museums, and engage with new people.
During this travel, I found the sort of fulfillment I’d been missing, enabling me to recognize how much I’d swung from one extreme to another.
In New York City, the part of me who loved the solace of birdsong and long days in the mountains felt stifled, and in the Telluride area, the more culturally curious part of me felt stifled. I needed to find a place where all aspects of myself were nourished.
Once again, I wasn’t sure where to go, but finding fulfillment in other towns empowered me to let go of a mountain paradise that wasn’t actually paradise for me and trust I’d find a better fit elsewhere.
My husband and I have since sold our house in the mountains. We’re still trying to find balance and our perfect home — for now, that looks like splitting our time between Northern Italy and Northern New Mexico.
