I think that finding the right place to live is a lot like finding the career or person (or both) of your dreams. There are places like New York City (and I name it because it was this for me) that are analogous to professions like doctor or lawyer or business person - the kinds of places that lots of people like to tell you are somehow more important or better or more challenging than other places. But just like what you decide to do to pay the rent and put food in your belly, it is a very personal thing and I am convinced that there are certain preferences imprinted on us. I spent five years trying to prove I could make it in NYC (to whom, I don't even know) and if I had stayed there, I'm sure I could have made it work on a basic level (career, apartment, friends, relationships). Yet it could never give me what I needed. For some people, it is exactly what they need.
I often feel as if I was always meant to live here in the DC area. When I moved here, a lot of buried memories of my interests as a child came back to me. I had a lot of books about historical places here on the east coast, American history, and the federal government. I had a fake Constitution and quill that my sister brought me after visiting here and I held onto it for over a decade. I officially started hating my classmates and the town I lived in when the Close Up DC program that 8th graders went on every year was canceled the year that would have brought me here because there was not enough interest. I even remember pleading with many of my friends to sign up so that I could go, but I couldn't get a one of them to want it and I just knew in that moment that I needed to get the hell out of Los Angeles. One kid, sounding way too proud of himself, even said, "Nahhhhh, too much structure. I'd rather stay here and ditch class and do what I want."
I guess I try to pretend I'm impartial because I study geography and there are things to like and dislike about every place, but secretly, I love it here and I know it will always be my home even if move away next year and never have a chance to live here again. I even complain about a lot of things here (since I live in a suburb on the wrong side of DC where there are all kinds of silly regulations on things like alcohol), but it's in the way that one complains about a loved one leaving their dirty socks out. Sure, dirty socks on the floor are gross, but who cares when you're in love?