You could move to New York City.
Walk out your door at 2am for a bacon egg and cheese and not think twice about it. Get on a subway that takes you from a mosque to a synagogue to a cathedral to a noodle shop that's been slinging the same bowl since 1987, all in twelve blocks. Watch strangers from four different continents argue about a parking spot in a language that is somehow entirely made of hand gestures.
Sit in a park designed 170 years ago by geniuses who wanted you, specifically, to have somewhere green to sit. Catch a Tuesday night set from a musician who's about to be enormous, in a room that fits eighty people. Walk past a building where somebody invented something, or wrote something, or changed something, roughly every four minutes, whether you notice or not.
Realize your commute is also a people-watching seminar, a smell-based cultural exchange program, and free comedy.
Order the good pizza at 1am standing up, off a paper plate, next to a guy in a tux and a guy who clearly just got off a double shift, both getting the same slice with the same reverence.
Pay too much for too little space and get, in exchange, eleven million other people's worth of energy pointed directly at your life every single day.
Move to Iowa. Get the four bedrooms, the garage, the yard. Never again have a 3am conversation with a stranger that changes how you think about something. Never walk into a museum on a random Wednesday because it's just there. Never get that specific electric feeling of being one tiny gear in the greatest machine humans have ever built.
But hey. At least parking's easy.
Maybe if y’all would stop pretending to be casting directors, you wouldn’t get so upset and mean when the fake scenarios in your head don’t align with the real casting directors and filmmakers and execs.