Everyone else seems to thrive and I don’t

There is no shame quite like being unhappy in Paradise.

If you live in a bleak, grey, industrial city and you are depressed, people understand. “Of course you’re down,” they say. “Look at the weather. Look at the concrete.” Your misery has an external alibi.

But if you live in the “It” city—the place everyone wants to move to, the place with the perfect weather, the amazing food scene, the beautiful people, the top-10 lists—and you are miserable?

Then the problem, obviously, is you.

The Paradise Trap

I moved to Paradise five years ago. I won’t name it, but you can guess. Sunshine. Palm trees. Avocados. The whole package.

I moved there because I thought the external beauty would fix my internal weather.

“How can I be sad,” I reasoned, “if it’s 72 degrees and sunny every day?”

This, it turns out, is a logical fallacy known as the “Geographical Cure.” And it is a lie.

The first six months were great. It felt like a vacation. I went to the beach. I ate the tacos. I posted the photos on Instagram. #Blessed. #NeverLeaving.

But then, the novelty wore off. And the reality set in.

The reality was that Paradise was expensive. It was crowded. The traffic was soul-crushing. The culture was vapid. Conversations were about real estate, traffic routes, and diets.

I started to feel a deep, gnawing emptiness.

But I couldn’t say anything.

The Gaslighting of “Best Lists”

Every time I tried to express my dissatisfaction, I was gaslit by the culture.

“You don’t like it here?” a friend would say, shocked. “But it’s the best city in the world! Look at the weather!”

“I know,” I would say. “But I feel lonely. I feel like I’m in a car all day. I feel like everything is superficial.”

“You just need to find your tribe,” they would say. Or, “Maybe you should try surfing.”

The implication was clear: The City is perfect. If you aren’t enjoying it, you are broken.

I started to fake it. I smiled at the brunches. I nodded during the conversations about property values. I pretended to be “stoked.”

But inside, I was screaming.

I felt like I was the only person in the asylum who realized the walls were padded. Everyone else was hallucinating a tropical resort. I was seeing a prison with good landscaping.

The Tyranny of Positivity

Paradise places often have a culture of Toxic Positivity. Because everyone has paid so much (in money and effort) to be there, there is a collective sunk-cost fallacy. We have to believe it’s worth it. To admit it sucks is to admit we made a mistake.

So everyone performs happiness.

“It’s so great!” “Living the dream!” “Another day in paradise!”

This makes the unhappiness of the individual feel 100x heavier.

I would drive down the Pacific Coast Highway, looking at the ocean—objectively one of the most beautiful views on earth—and feel a crushing sense of despair. And then I would feel guilty for the despair. What is wrong with you? Look at that view! Be happy, dammit!

Depression in the dark feels like matching. Depression in the sun feels like failure.

Acceptance

The turning point came when I stopped trying to force myself to love it.

I admitted the truth: This is a beautiful place. And it is not for me.

Both things can be true.

Acai bowls are delicious. I do not want to talk about them for 45 minutes. The sun is nice. I miss seasons. The people are beautiful. I miss people who look like they have lived.

I realized that “Thriving” is subjective.

A cactus thrives in the desert. A fern thrives in the damp shade. If you plant a fern in the desert, it will die. It doesn’t matter that the desert is “sunny” and “warm.” It is the wrong environment for the fern.

I was a fern in a cactus town.

I wasn’t broken. I was just parched.

Leaving Paradise

When I announced I was leaving, people were confused. “Where could you possibly go that is better than here?”

“Somewhere cloudy,” I said. “Somewhere cheaper. Somewhere uglier.”

They looked at me like I was insane.

But when I got to my new town—a place with grey skies, old brick buildings, and people wearing coats—I felt my shoulders drop for the first time in five years.

I walked outside and felt the cold air on my face. It felt real.

I wasn’t in Paradise anymore. I was on Earth.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could thrive.

Don’t let a “Top 10 Places to Live” list dictate your happiness. Don’t let Instagram decide your geography.

If you are a fern, get out of the sun. Go find your shade.