When you decide to buy a small place away from the city, most of your friends and associates will be either dismayed or disenfranchised.
Some will congratulate you through gritted teeth. Others will marvel with wide-eyed wonder why on earth you’re throwing your life away and moving to a small town in the country or on the coast.
A small town which is overflowing with criminals or meth heads. Or both. The inference being that this is a small town where - despite your fondness for drugs and altered states laced with a dash of anarchy - you won’t fit in. A small town where you will be the perennial outsider.
But then again, you’ve been an outsider pretty much you’re whole life. It’s given you objectivity, a certain necessary distance.
Provided opportunities to see things (everything?) afresh.
To see new possibilities everywhere.