We built a life we love states away from our parents. Now that we’re starting a family, I’m second-guessing our choice.

• My husband and I love the life we built in Colorado, but we’re far from my parents and his.
• We’ve managed the distance with trips and calls, but I’m worried about it as we grow our family.
• I don’t want to move, but I worry about having our future kids grow up without grandparents nearby.

For years, moving to Colorado felt like the easiest decision in the world.

My husband and I both came here on our own, drawn by the mountains, the outdoor lifestyle, and the possibility of building a life somewhere that felt more like us.

I moved to Colorado 10 years ago; he followed five years ago. We met here, fell in love here, and eventually built the kind of life we’d once imagined from afar.

Now we’re starting a family, and for the first time, I’m wondering if we’ve built our dream life too far away from the people who raised us.

Our families are rooted somewhere else

My parents live in the Chicago suburbs, where both sides of my family have lived for generations. There are decades of history there: grandparents, aunts and uncles, family traditions, familiar streets.

My husband’s family is in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and his siblings are there, too, along with their children. That means our future children won’t just have grandparents who live far away; they’ll have cousins who live far away, too.

A Pew Research Center survey found that 75% of American adults consider it at least somewhat important to live in a community where family is nearby. I used to understand that statistic in the abstract.

Now, as we’re preparing to have a child, I understand it differently. I’ve always understood that choosing Colorado meant giving up some proximity to family.

But when it was just the two of us, that trade-off felt more manageable. We could fly home for the holidays. We could plan trips around birthdays. We could FaceTime when we missed someone. We had the freedom to pack a bag and go.

Having children makes the distance feel different.

Suddenly, I’m picturing the ordinary moments, not just the big ones: grandparents stopping by for dinner, cousins playing together on a random Saturday, my parents being close enough to help when we’re overwhelmed. I’m thinking about all the memories that happen without anyone planning them.

One 2026 Marquette Law School poll of about 1,500 adults in the US found that 56% of grandparents with adult children living within 50 miles cared for a grandchild at least once a month.

Among grandparents whose adult children all lived more than 50 miles away, that figure fell to 18%. Suddenly, the difference between “we can visit” and “we can swing by” feels pretty significant.

The life we chose is still the life we love

The complicated part is that I don’t actually want to leave Colorado.

This is home. It’s where my husband and I met. It’s where we’ve spent years building our relationship, careers, friendships, routines, and community. The mountains that initially brought us here aren’t just scenery anymore — they’re part of our everyday life.

And there’s something uncomfortable about questioning a decision that, for so long, felt so unquestionably right.

Part of me worries that I’m romanticizing what it would be like to live closer to family. Being nearby doesn’t automatically mean everyone will have the time, energy, or ability to show up.

Families have their own lives, schedules, challenges, and routines. And moving closer wouldn’t recreate the exact childhood or extended-family experience I remember growing up, since my husband’s and my parents don’t even live in the same state.

Maybe there’s no perfect version of this decision

I suspect this is one of those choices that becomes more complicated once you’re a parent: You can be grateful for the life you’ve created and still wonder about the life you didn’t choose.

I don’t know yet what the answer is. Maybe we’ll stay in Colorado and find ways to make the distance work. Maybe we’ll eventually move closer to one of our families. Maybe we’ll spend years going back and forth before we figure out what feels right.

What I do know is that starting a family has changed the way I think about “home.”

For a decade, home meant Colorado to me. It meant mountains and independence and the life my husband and I intentionally created together.

Now I’m realizing that home might also be measured in grandparents’ houses, cousins’ birthdays, family dinners, and the people who can show up when you need them.

I don’t regret moving to Colorado — not even a little. But for the first time, I’m allowing myself to admit that the dream life we chose comes with a trade-off … and I’m not sure yet how much that trade-off will matter once our family gets bigger.