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Living in one of California's conservative strongholds, many abortion rights supporters in Auburn long kept quiet, but that changed when Roe v. Wade was overturned.
For years, housing costs have plagued millennials. Some of us graduated into a recession; others have seen stagnant salaries and limits for growth. The harsh reality became clear: we would have fewer economic opportunities than our parents’ generation. The pandemic has been a nightmare, but—for some, anyway—it seemed at first to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to reverse those dire prospects. Like so many other twentysomethings, I have been limited in where I can live by my daily commute to the office. I spent most of my working life tethered to the city: first Toronto, then, as prices became increasingly unreasonable, the nearby city of Burlington. I’d accepted that I would likely be confined to an overpriced rental for years to come. But COVID-19 has changed that. My job, like many other office positions, will stay remote after the pandemic ends—a shift that has made countless other young middle-class workers reevaluate not only how they work but where. Now, young people are fleeing to parts of the country where what money they’ve managed to accrue will still buy them their very own small, messy houses. The trouble is, everyone has been heading for the exit at once.