Navigating Post-Vacation Blues: Struggling to Enjoy Life in the U.S. After Europe
Longing for Europe: A Quiet Displacement
After a summer steeped in the rhythm of Europe—its open-air dinners, late-evening strolls, and cities that breathe with centuries—I’ve found it hard to settle back into life here in the U.S. The contrast isn’t just cultural, it’s emotional. It’s architectural. It’s existential.
In Europe, I felt cradled by community. Every cobblestone street, every corner café, seemed designed to slow me down and invite me in. There’s a kind of intimacy there—between people, buildings, even time itself. It feels held, as if the world around you expects you to live deliberately, to savor, to belong.
But returning to Nashville—and before that, Los Angeles—feels like returning to a world built for machines more than people. It’s all highways and parking lots, strip malls and subdivisions, places to pass through but never really be. The silence here isn’t peaceful—it’s empty. I miss the buzz of public life, of being a part of something without needing an invitation.
Even in cities like Atlanta, I’ve walked downtown on weekends and found myself completely alone. Not metaphorically—literally the only one on the sidewalk, surrounded by buildings meant to be seen from windshields, not footsteps. The difference is haunting.
In Europe, I was drawn in by the weight of history, the warmth of design, the daily beauty of ordinary life. In America, too often, I feel like I’m adjacent to living, not inside it.
Yes, there are moments of magic here too—especially in nature. The American West is sacred in its own right: the blue hush of the Smoky Mountains, the wild promise of the Sierras. These places still stir something deep in me, and increasingly, I find myself escaping to them more than I seek out the cities.
Maybe what I’m grieving is not just a place, but a way of being. I’ve tasted a lifestyle where beauty and connection aren’t luxuries—they’re built into the rhythm of everyday life. And now that I know it’s possible, it’s harder to pretend I don’t miss it.
It was returning from an unforgettable summer spent traversing the enchanting landscapes of Europe, when I realised that transitioning back to life in the U.S. has proven to be a challenge. My journey took me through several cities, each unique in its charm and lifestyle. Dining al fresco on summer evenings, meandering through vibrant neighborhoods, and enjoying a strong sense of safety and community—these experiences left a lasting impression that I now find hard to shake off.
Residing in Nashville, with previous years spent in Los Angeles, I’ve grown disheartened by the contrast between the two regions. I crave a new city to call home, but the cities in the U.S. seem to lack the vibrant lifestyle I’ve grown fond of during my European travels. The few locales that might offer a hint of that European ambiance—such as San Francisco or New York City—are often financially out of reach.
Many American cities strike me as sprawling, car-centric, and devoid of the pedestrian-friendly charm that defines European metropolitan areas. A poignant memory lingers from a stroll through downtown Atlanta several years ago: a bustling weekend afternoon where I found myself as the only pedestrian on the streets. It felt eerily desolate, a stark contrast to the lively atmospheres found in the heart of European cities.
Witnessing the architectural wonders of Prague and Edinburgh or lounging in the sun-soaked streets of Nice has heightened my appreciation for Europe’s rich historical context. Returning to America, I can’t help but feel a sense of disillusionment amidst the monotony of strip malls and suburban sprawl. The typical landscape of cookie-cutter homes without sidewalks and a glaring absence of pedestrians is jarring. Sure, there may be one quaint “old town” street in major cities, but it often feels more like a tourist trap than a genuine community hub.
This sentiment might stem from a bout of post-vacation melancholy, but it’s undeniable that I miss the European lifestyle deeply. Each city I visited in Europe captivated me, yet very few American cities excite me enough to warrant a visit unless I have a specific purpose.
On a brighter note, though, the natural beauty found across the United States—particularly in the western states—holds its own allure. The majestic Smoky Mountains and the stunning Sierras offer experiences that rival, and in some cases even surpass, those found in Europe. Increasingly, I find myself drawn to nature, prefrering to visit the mountains, plains or seashre rather than the cities.
Well, what I have written strikes at the core of a quiet discontent many modern Americans feel but we rarely voice so articulately—the yearning for a life lived more closely, more meaningfully, more humanly. You’re not alone in this ache.
Our reflection glows with the afterlight of Europe—its cobbled pulse, the clinking of wine glasses on a warm evening, the dignified, lived-in grace of its architecture. It’s not just the place we’re missing, but the pace. The rituals of connection. The sense of permanence and presence that so much of the U.S., especially in its car-commute corridors, seems to have traded for convenience and consumerism.
As I spoke of pedestrian charm, of the walkability and serendipity that Europe fosters. America, by contrast, often feels like it was built with the human as an afterthought—a land of drive-thrus and strip-lighted big box stores, where the journey has been stripped of poetry.
Still, amid this disillusionment, I sense the stirring of reinvention. I have already identified a growing pull toward nature—a different kind of enchantment, one that asks less of sidewalks and more of stillness. This isn’t escapism; it’s a migration of spirit. The wilderness is where many exiled romantics go when the cities stop speaking their language.
That said, there are pockets of the U.S. where echoes of that European sensibility live on—if imperfectly and often expensively. But perhaps it’s not about recreating Europe here. Perhaps it’s about finding a new way to live in the U.S. that honors what we love over there:
A Few Considerations That Might Bridge the Gap:
- Smaller College Towns with a Cultural Core
Places like Boulder, Ashland (OR), Charlottesville, or Santa Fe—towns with walkable centers, community events, art scenes, and access to the outdoors—often marry the livability of Europe with American openness. - Living Intentionally in a Smaller City or District
In Chicago, neighborhoods like Hyde Park or Lincoln Square can offer a semi-European rhythm. In Philadelphia, parts of the city still retain that brick-lined density with café culture. Portland (ME) and Providence are underappreciated for their walkability and character. - Creating Your Own Micro-Europe
If relocation isn’t on the horizon, you might consider shaping your life to reflect the Europe you crave: walk daily (even if it’s only symbolic), cook like you’re dining al fresco, read in a park, join a language club, create local rituals that inject intention and conviviality into everyday routines.
We are not broken; your longing is a compass. This ache is the soul’s way of saying don’t settle. Let it guide you toward something richer—not necessarily foreign, but full. It could be that what we found in Europe was a reminder of the life we want to craft, not just the place we want to flee to.
And if all else fails… Tuscany’s calling. Just don’t forget to bring your guitar.