The small-town paradox.
My name is Andrea, I live in Correggio and I work remotely in tech. I lived in Amsterdam. I worked in Milan. I could have stayed in either. I chose to move back to a small town. And every day I'm glad I did. But every once in a while -- not always, not every day, but every once in a while -- something is missing.
This is the story of that "something."
Correggio is not Amsterdam
I know, it sounds obvious. But let me explain what I really mean.
In Amsterdam, on any random Wednesday evening, you could go to a product manager meetup, to dinner with startup people, to a talk on AI in a coworking space on the canal. Not because Amsterdam was perfect -- but because in a big city, the density of interesting people is incredibly high. You just had to leave the house.
In Correggio, on a Wednesday evening, the options are: pizza at Mario's or a walk around the square. Which is totally fine, to be clear. But if you feel like talking to someone about how your industry is changing, bouncing an idea around, meeting people who do different things and live full lives -- good luck.
This isn't a comparison to say one is better than the other. They're different. I chose the small town consciously -- for family, for quality of life, because the Emilia region is home. But the price of that choice is the absence of professional and social stimuli that come for free in a city.
What I miss
I don't miss Amsterdam. I don't miss Milan. I miss the things those cities gave you without you even looking for them.
Events that open your mind
A talk on a topic you didn't know about. A meetup where you discover a new tool. A random conversation with a stranger that shifts your perspective. In a small town, these things don't happen. Not because there aren't smart people -- but because they're scattered, invisible, each one at home alone.
Conversations that make you grow
I'm not talking about small talk. I'm talking about those conversations where you describe a work problem and someone says "I had the same problem, here's how I solved it." In the office it happened by chance. In a small town you have to organize it yourself -- and who has the time?
A community of people who get it
My friends in Correggio are amazing. But when I talk about SaaS, product management, or remote work, they look at me like I'm speaking another language. And in a way, I am.
The energy of ambitious people
In a big city, ambition is in the air. Everyone is building something, launching something, learning something. That energy is contagious. In a small town the air is clean -- but that energy is rarer.
To be clear: I'm not saying small-town people aren't interesting. I'm saying the density is different. If you work in tech and live in Correggio, the people who do the same job within 20 km can be counted on one hand. In Milan there are thousands. In Amsterdam, tens of thousands.
A small town gives you a beautiful life. But it takes away your professional tribe. And for remote workers, that tribe doesn't even exist at the office.
The double loneliness
Here's the thing I haven't read anywhere else. The remote worker in a small town lives a double loneliness. The first is the classic remote work kind -- no colleagues, no coffee break, no spontaneous human interaction. Every remote worker has it, wherever they live.
The second is that of living in a place with no professional community. If you work remotely in Milan, at least you can go to a meetup. You can find a coworking space full of freelancers. You can go out on Saturday and meet people who work in your industry. In a small town, you don't even have that.
The result? You're isolated squared. From your work and from your territory. And that's the small-town paradox.
I don't want to move back to the city
Let me be clear: the solution isn't moving back to the city. I did that, I lived in the city, I know what it means. I don't want it. I want the garden, I want my parents ten minutes away, I want the Parmigiano from the dairy behind my house, I want the silence of the plains. I wouldn't trade any of that for a studio apartment in a big city.
But I also want the stimuli. I want the conversations. I want people who understand my work and my life. I want a community.
And if that community doesn't exist where I live -- then I'll build it.
The community I'm building
Remwork was also born from this. From the awareness that out there, there are thousands of Andreas -- people who work remotely in small towns, who love where they live, but who feel the absence of a professional tribe.
People who can't wait to meet each other. Who want to talk to someone who understands what it means to do a demo at 9 PM with Americans from the kitchen table of a town of 20,000 people.
The community starts online -- newsletter, group, conversations. But the real magic happens when we meet in person. At Remwork experiences, where for a week you stop being the only remote worker in your town and find yourself surrounded by people like you.
I'm certain of one thing: when this community takes shape, nobody will want to stay online only. Everyone will want to meet. Because those who live in small towns know how precious it is to find someone who speaks your language. And when you find them, you don't let them go.
To those who live in small towns
If you live in a village, a small city, anywhere that isn't a major metropolitan area -- and you work remotely -- this article is for you.
You made a beautiful choice. The quality of life you have is enviable. But I know what you're missing, because I'm missing the same thing. You miss the exchange of ideas. You miss the people. You miss that spark that in the city came without looking for it and in a small town you have to build by yourself.
Remwork is my way of building it. Not alone -- with you, with everyone like us. A community that starts from the periphery, that celebrates the choice of living outside big cities, and that proves you don't have to move to a metropolis to have stimulation, connections, and a full professional life.
Correggio is not Amsterdam. But with the right people, it can become something even better.
Because Amsterdam has the canals and the meetups. But we have the tortelli and the drive to build something new. And I bet ours wins.