Bader: Don’t let job dictate where life takes root
In the spring of 2018, Diana Riggs and Todd Severson were eating outdoors at The Diner in McMinnville with their 13-year-old golden retriever Kya, who had recently lost both eyes to glaucoma.
Guest Writer
Christine Bader is co-founder of The Life I Want (www.thelifeiwant.co), a storytelling project she is carrying out with Eva Dienel. The aim is reimagining the future of work, which she spoke about at TEDxMcMinnville in January. A former Amazon executive, she quit corporate life in Seattle to resettle in McMinnville. She makes her home here with her husband — Adrian Chitty, artist in residence at A to Z Wineworks — and their two children
They had been on the road in their Airstream for two years, looking for a new place to settle after living in Seattle. They had passed through McMinnville a few times, and were starting to sense that the city had some of the same neighborly vibe that they grew up with in Nebraska — something they were hoping to find again.
They finished their meal and asked for their check, but their server waved them off. “Some dog lovers inside got your breakfast for you,” she said.
A few weeks later, they drove through McMinnville to discover a sea of lemonade stands. It was Lemonade Day, the annual event encouraging kids to open lemonade stands to learn business skills.
“There were lemonade stands all over town,” Severson told me. “We were like, ‘What is this town? What is happening?”
They had clearly found their home.
Most of us get to know our new hometowns in predictable ways: attend an orientation at work, check out the local bars, meet other school parents, loiter at the dog park. Riggs and Severson started attending city planning meetings.
Eventually, they secured enough financing from Citizens Bank and the U.S. Small Business Administration to purchase the historic Huberd Shoe Grease Company building.
They had a vision of turning it into a community gathering space and market that would highlight the small food and drink purveyors of Yamhill County. Accordingly, they named it Mac Market.
Mac Market opened in October 2019. And before the COVID-19 pandemic began in March, they were starting to hit their stride with a calendar of weekly happenings like trivia nights, exercise classes and live music. They were also hosting special events like the Assemblage Symposium and TEDx salon.
When the coronavirus forced their shutdown, Riggs felt energized by the challenge. She thought, “This is a creative problem solving challenge, and we are going to take this on.”
They created pandemic picnic party bags, then to-go meal kits, then a virtual farmers’ market. For the month of April, they donated their 10,000-square-foot space to the Yamhill Community Action Partnership’s food bank while YCAP searched for a bigger long-term home to meet the increased demand for services.
They reopened in June, continuing with the virtual farmers’ market and experimenting with small events.
Needless to say, this will not be the busy summer they were eagerly anticipating. But they are pleased to have been able to serve their new community through this difficult time — including helping other small local businesses reach customers while their tasting rooms and retail outlets are closed.
Despite the business uncertainties, they’re still happy with McMinnville.
Riggs told me about a recent day biking with her dogs and seeing friends, which even with social distancing felt very much like home. Severson said, “Geography is what drew us to the area, but then it was the people and the community that were hitting a lot of the checkboxes we were looking for.”
I have a theory: Riggs and Severson are content with where they are, even as their new venture faces an uncertain future, because they chose where they live rather than letting work choose for them.
Right now, we’re home a lot. Tens of millions of Americans are newly unemployed, tens of millions more are working at home, and people who don’t fall into either category are staying at home to avoid catching COVID-19.
So it’s hard to avoid paying attention to where we live.
Are we happy with what we see? Once the workplace is taken out of the equation, are we in the right homes, with people and physical surroundings that we would have chosen for ourselves? Or were we able to ignore that we were in the wrong place because the job and commute kept us busy and distracted?
For most of my life, I assumed your job dictates where you live.
My mother came to the U.S. from the Philippines in her 20s, dispatched by her accounting firm, and stayed. My father grew up just outside of New York City, moved into the city after college for work and didn’t leave until he retired decades later. Most of my peers from college and business school prioritized finding work and moved accordingly.
I followed work around the country and around the world. My last corporate move, in 2015, took me from New York to Seattle to join Amazon.
I left the company in 2017. For the first time since college, I found myself in a place without a career-driven reason to be there.
I was surprised to find that I wasn’t particularly enamored with Seattle — a realization that eventually led me and my family to McMinnville.
Riggs and Severson felt the same way.
“Even in the condo we lived,” Severson told me, “there were the same neighbors we'd pass every day in the hallway, and they wouldn't make eye contact with us or say hello. There was no sense of community there, really.”
One sunny day, they realized they didn’t have to stay. They were both working at home at their kitchen table, Riggs as a freelance copywriter and designer, Severson as an account manager for a gas company serving customers throughout the Pacific Northwest.
“We’re like, ‘Oh, let’s go to a park and work,’” Severson said. “And then we were sitting in the park, and we were like, ‘Whoa. We could do this from anywhere.’”
They purchased the Airstream, sold their Seattle condo and hit the road.
Riggs told me they had a “steep learning curve” figuring out how to work remotely. They found themselves cross-referencing cellphone coverage maps with campground maps to make sure they parked in places they could log on. They took note of where cellphone service improved as they were driving, in case they had to return to that spot.
Then McMinnville beckoned.
From talking to Riggs and Severson, I understand that sense of place matters. This is a principle that the Willamette Valley’s many vintners know deeply, encapsulated in the idea of terroir: If the soil isn’t right, the grapes won’t grow, no matter what interventions you try.
Mobility is deeply embedded in the American psyche. Think the historical concept of "manifest destiny", Jack Kerouac's book "On the Road," the hit movie "Thelma & Louise."
But recently our movement has slowed.
In 1985, nearly 20 percent of U.S. residents had moved in the previous year. By 2018, it was fewer than 10 percent — the lowest level since the Census Bureau started tracking mobility in 1948.
People started moving less when the 2008 recession hit, having less cash for a move and fewer job prospects to move for. The invincibility of the COVID-19 virus is forcing people to stay put, and the ensuing recession will keep people in place even after restrictions are lifted.
In his 2009 book "Who's Your City?" academic Richard Florida categorized people into “the mobile,” who have the means to move to pursue opportunity; “the stuck,” who can’t afford to relocate; and “the rooted,” who could move but choose to stay.
Few would argue that “stuck” is good. But Riggs and Severson inspired me to put more value on feeling “rooted.” That way, if we do get stuck due to factors beyond our control, we’re happy to be where we are.
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