Chasing my American Dream in Big Sky country

Last year, when I graduated from the UC Berkeley School of Law, I was fortunate to have two job offers. One was a Big Law job at a firm in San Francisco. The other was a judicial clerkship on the Montana Supreme Court in Helena, Mont. The firm job offered greater pay, better benefits and more career stability. But for my fiancé and me, the choice was easy.

We packed up our spot in the Richmond District, got on Interstate 80 and headed for Big Sky country.

Like many other former Californians who have made the trek out of the Golden State since the start of the pandemic, we left our home in pursuit of the American Dream along what I call the “Zoom Trail” — the routes opened by remote work and COVID-induced restlessness.

The Zoom Trail, like the Oregon Trail before it, promises something at the heart of the American Dream: a belief that a better future exists for you, your family and your community. For many, big cities have lost their luster because the problems they face and the solutions they propose land somewhere on the spectrum between foolish and futile.

In San Francisco alone, headlines inspire few people and instill little optimism. You can only read about the cost of public toilets or another delayed, over-budget transit project so many times before you wonder if big cities are up to the task of realizing their potential.

The same ingenuity, desperation and persistence that motivated people to head west over 150 years ago is now driving Californians to the mountains of Montana and beyond. From 2021 to 2022, Florida, Idaho, South Carolina, Texas, South Dakota and Montana had the largest percentage population growth rates, according to the Census Bureau.

Former Californians I meet in Montana share common complaints about what led to their move. Folks are tired of working harder, but facing higher rents. They’re unwilling to get another education credential but still remain vulnerable to being a victim of the next tech layoff. And, people are fed up with advocating for better policies while knowing their vote will likely mean little in cities where political machines still exist. Whenever I hear these complaints, I find myself nodding along.

Personal and communal progress in California does not come easily. Some will argue that people have the wrong perception of California. And in some ways that pushback is correct. After all, California is on the verge of surpassing Germany as the fourth-largest economy in the world. But perceptions and aspirations are rarely the stuff of hard facts and white papers. What matters is that many Californians feel stuck. According to a 2022 Public Policy Institute of California survey, just about half of Californians believe the state is headed in the right direction. For those who don’t, that sentiment is what can lead to a Zillow search for a new landing pad at the end of the Zoom Trail.

For their part, long-time Montanans will tell you that their state isn’t exactly what pop culture has led the rest of the country to believe: a place where grit alone can determine your fate, but enough technology exists so that you can continue to binge your favorite shows. The state is home to problems of its own — many of which are made worse by the seemingly endless arrival of Zoom Trail migrants.

For example, housing has become unaffordable for locals unable to make Bay Area wages by working remotely. And, just as Californians feel uninspired by politicians who spend more time on Twitter than discussing meaningful policies, many Montanans have become pessimistic about any policy solutions to their biggest issues. As two former mayors of Bozeman recently summed it up: “If we woke up tomorrow to 1,000 brand-new housing units, they would be snatched up by same people who are snatching them up today: 20 percent would go to wealthy people from Bozeman who can afford to move up or invest; fifty percent would go to wealthy newcomers; and the remaining thirty percent would go to out-of-state investors.”

Where Californians see a state with opportunities yet to be discovered, Montanans are watching other people realize dreams at their expense. The tragic irony is that the “plundering” Californian and the “powerless” Montanan each crave the same thing — a frontier.

Land free of constraints (real and perceived) has always been the setting for the American Dream. Going back to the first European settlers, the pursuit of this dream has always led to disastrous consequences for the people that already called that place home. Today, the relentless pursuit of a frontier by those privileged enough to take such risks is once again having a negative effect on locals.

It’s not lost on me that by moving from the Bay Area to Helena, I contributed to the forces displacing locals and disrupting communities. I can conjure up all sorts of justifications for why my move was different, was justifiable, was necessary, but my story is no different than any other pioneer’s story — we’re all looking for an opportunity to prosper, to contribute, to have an impact.

So if the pursuit of the frontier is inevitable and inherent, can that pursuit ever be something positive for the collective community? Can we strive to make a difference without stealing opportunities from others?

The answer can and must be, “Yes.” But rather than looking for new places to settle, can our local and state governments, private entities and nonprofits provide people with the sense that, through hard work, risktaking and collaboration, they can achieve big things exactly in the place they already call home?

Americans should not have to cross state lines to feel like their contribution matters. What if we had a modern Civilian Conservation Corps that could offer everyone the opportunity to collaboratively build up their cities and hometowns? What if Service Saturdays — days filled with local service projects — became the cultural norm? What if we revived democratic participation by making citizen assemblies — in which individuals are randomly selected to evaluate policies and set priorities for legislative bodies — a normal part of our political system?

People crave purpose, community and, frankly, impact. Those desires and ambitions moved me and millions of others to new places. Rather than give everyone a U-Haul gift card to move to a state of their choice, we ought to examine how we can bring the frontier — and its opportunities and promise — to every neighborhood.

Mark Miller Photos/Getty Images Small towns such as Livingston, Mont., appeal to big-city dwellers put off by the problems of urban living. Ideally, people wouldn’t have to move to a different state to fulfill their dreams.