Jane Ganahl was a journalist for 25 years with Hearst newspapers in San Francisco before co-founding the Litquake festival, where she served as director until 2023. Her essays have appeared in five anthologies, including one she edited; she now teaches classes in personal essay throughout the Bay Area. https://janeganahl.com
Included in a today’s email barrage is a promotion aimed at seniors. “Least expensive cities in the country for retirees!” the subject line blares. Where I would normally flick all come-ons into the trash, I open this one eagerly. And my heart sinks.
Number one is Fargo, North Dakota. (Didn’t they see the movie?) Also on the list: Rochester, New York (lake-effect snow). Kansas City, Missouri (no mountains, only hills). Lincoln, Nebraska (frigid winters, tornadoes, no professional sports teams).
Hold on – Albuquerque, New Mexico? A place I’ve visited and enjoyed. Beautiful mountains, thriving art scene, great restaurants.
But … it’s not California. The place I’ve lived for all but eight of my 73 years. The place that spoils you for living anywhere else. The state that’s so goddamn expensive you know you’ll eventually end up on a family member’s doorstep, suitcase and photo albums in tow.
Choosing to stay in California means choosing frugality – at least for the majority of us middle-income-earners. I retired two years ago from a poorly paying job heading up a celebrated nonprofit literary festival. Nowadays I spend most of my time heading up an animal rescue nonprofit where I work hard for free. (In my next life, I’m coming back as a tech bro.)
I get Social Security and a journalist’s meager pension. Like many American seniors, I worry about outliving my modest nest egg. So worried that the thought has occurred to me many times that I should move someplace cheaper.
Many of us are in the same boat. According to a 2024 AARP survey, 65% of people over 50 would move for a lower cost of living.
If I did, I’d be better off in one respect: housing. Monthly rental of a one-bedroom apartment in California averages around $2,200. My mortgage, condo homeowners association dues and property taxes total around $4,100 per month. (After this, I am done with mortgages; renting is easier at this age.) Meanwhile, down in Arkansas, which also has the lowest healthcare costs in the country, a one-bedroom rents for around $700 per month.
Such a deal! Unfortunately, in 2024 Arkansas also had the fourth highest violent crime rate in the country (579 reported crimes per 100,000 people, compared to 486 in California) and was ranked 7th in highest poverty rate. And … that governor.
California is the third most expensive state to live in, according to World Population Review – behind Hawaii and New York. Gas prices are second highest in the country, and housing is double the national average. According to SmartAsset, a single adult needs to earn $119,475 per year to live “comfortably” here.
I guess I need to prepare for discomfort – though I’ve been feeling that for years.
Why do I and many of my elder friends stay? So many reasons, but in my case, family. My only daughter and one grandchild live 75 minutes away, and that’s already too far. I have dreamed for years about being in the same town (Santa Cruz) so I could pick up my granddaughter from school, take her to the climbing gym, have weekly family dinners like my parents used to. Then I learned that the National Low Income Housing Coalition named Santa Cruz County as the most expensive place in the U.S. for rentals. Talk about a dream deferred.
On a brighter note, it’s hard to imagine finding all the wonderful assets we have in California anywhere else in the country. Incredible cultural offerings. Residents who think rather than ingesting the latest social media conspiracy theory, and who are engaged with improving the state and planet. And, of course, the natural beauty. My favorite ocean bluffs – where I’ve already requested my ashes be scattered – still take my breath away and make me grateful to live where I do.
So my friends and I sacrifice to stay here, despite the cost. Rather than attend the San Francisco Ballet’s Nutcracker, where the cheap seats start at $150, we try smaller companies’ productions. We eschew Instacart and Whole Foods for Safeway. We can’t afford the bucket list trip to Iceland and settle instead for Lake Tahoe. And for Christmas, I’m going to make baskets of homemade goodies like tarts and cookies (I’ve become a hell of a baker in my dotage) and blackberry jam (my first attempt; pray for me).
I sometimes feel sorry for myself – though I know these are first-world problems. And I’m thankful I’m not among the rising number of California seniors experiencing homelessness. We all have to practice gratitude for what we do have.
Besides, the only viable alternative to cutting spending is earning more. And how many baristas do you see in their 70s? Either that, or marry for money – or at least someone to share the bills. I’m pretty sure it’s too late for that. But I’m willing to give anything a shot.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to make peace with the fact that if I live as long as my dad did (95), I’ll eventually end up penniless on my daughter’s doorstep. She swears it’s OK with her, but it’s definitely not OK with me. I haven’t fended for myself most of my life to become a burden on her.
Maybe I’ll die young(ish) and all these challenges will be moot. And if I’ve given up on California and am living in Arkansas at that point, hopefully my ashes can be sent home. In the meantime, I’m going to take a walk in the glorious California sunset and hope that day doesn’t come too soon.