Why did I move to such a cold place? I've had dreams of ice for awhile now, travelling in snowy towns, having a conversation with someone on an ice berg, little weird. I don't like the cold, it's like the outside of me is a rubber doll that is moved by robotic force and inside is a warm hearth bound by earth all around it and it's stuck and can't get out. Sounds creepy, like a Pan's Labyrinth Part II.
The most creative towns I know in the world are cold, at least at some time of the year. Makes for good art, this burrowing inside, I suppose.
If you're a wanderer and most folks in the US are, at least from within the States, have you ever wondered (climate wise) why you ended up where you did?