There’s a certain breed of homeowner who loves to play the victim, even when they knowingly bought their problems wholesale. You’ve met them, or at least heard them yelling into the wind. They’re the ones who buy cheap land directly under a flight path, then write furious letters about the noise.
It’s baffling. Planes have been flying over that land for decades. The reason the property was a bargain is because it comes with a side of jet engines at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Yet, a few months after signing the mortgage, these buyers suddenly demand government intervention—as if the airport should pack up and move because they didn’t like the fine print.
The same goes for people who build their “quiet country dream homes” right next to a national park. National parks exist to attract millions of visitors a year. That’s the whole point. To preserve beauty, yes—but also to share it. Complaining about the tourists after building next to Yellowstone or Zion is like moving to Times Square and being outraged that there are neon signs.
Then there are the hilltop homeowners—the ones who build massive, gawdy mansions on the ridgeline so they can sip wine and gaze at the sunset. Except, in the process, they force the rest of us to gaze at their architectural ego trip every time we look up. They bought the view for themselves and sold the rest of us a scar on the skyline.
And let’s not forget the “last farm on the edge of town” crowd. They buy their house on the outskirts because it’s quiet, affordable, and surrounded by fields. Then, when the town inevitably grows—because that’s what towns do—they throw up their hands in outrage. Suddenly, new schools, roads, and neighborhoods are “ruining” their peace. But here’s the reality: growth was always coming. The edge of town today is the middle of town tomorrow. Pretending otherwise is willful blindness.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: cheap land, big views, and proximity to wonder all come with strings attached. You don’t get to cash in on the benefits and then demand the world fix the downsides.
If you don’t want noise, don’t live under a flight path. If you don’t want crowds, don’t live next to a national park. If you don’t want to be judged for your taste, don’t put your house where the entire valley has to look at it. And if you don’t want growth, don’t buy on the edge of town and expect the rest of the world to freeze in place just for you.
The rest of us would like to enjoy our skies, our parks, our towns, and our horizons without your complaints—or your eyesores—dragging down the view.
Would you like me to give this one a snappy, sarcastic one-liner kicker at the end—almost like a newspaper columnist’s trademark mic-drop—or leave it at the strong closing paragraph?
Leave a comment