It’s nice to live in Russia, even if you’re not a developer. I don’t think about relocation at all

Disputes about emigration have not caused me any feelings for a long time, except for bewilderment. That’s

fillpackart

in his

article

put the question with the same edge: blame or fight injustice at home?

I felt a little sad that my point of view was not reflected in the post or in the comments. The whole story is that the question of moving does not seem to me a significant issue in my life.

Who am I and why am I here

I am not a developer. I do what is commonly called digital marketing. Native advertising, social networks, hot leads, heated leads, leads slightly scalded with boiling water – all this is my prerogative. I spin people for money so that you can sell them your software products, for example. This is without illusions.

At school, I dreamed of becoming a programmer – hence my habit of reading Habr. From the third grade, I entertained myself with learning HTML and JS, built robots from Lego Mindstorms, greedily devoured books on pluses and was touched by my analogue of Tetris on the command line. It seemed that a career as a developer was inevitable.

But then I realized that as soon as a hobby acquires responsibilities, colleagues, bosses and other ballast, it starts to get on my nerves. I also don’t really like to communicate with people, but in an amazing way it helps me to influence them. So I gradually came to freelancing in near-marketing, where I remain to this day.

It’s me that all people are very different

On Habré, I often come across the phrase “make a hobby your profession”. Amigos, I don’t know how you do it. For me, this is torture.

I also hate being hired. I just can’t stand everything connected with this: management, colleagues, rallies, restrictions, schedules – I saw it all in the coffin.

But I have a feeling that some call an awl in one place. That’s what they say about people who like to create something like that. Who can’t just sit still or just go to work. At first, this awl regularly left me without a livelihood, but with each attempt I got better – and each new step brought an incredible buzz.

For me, this process of continuous movement with myself is the content of my life.

And I don’t really care what country I do it in

In the comments to Phil’s article, I saw a lot of arguments for emigration, such as:

  • I’m moving for the future of my children
  • I want smooth roads and well-groomed streets
  • I don’t want to live in constant stress
  • In Russia, the risks are too high: they can put you on a bottle or plant drugs
  • In Europe, on the way to the metro you can meet a live hare
  • In Russia, catastrophically bad medicine
  • And in general – you can’t stand in solidarity with the country of victorious obscurantism

These are very good, honest and reasonable arguments. The problem is that almost all of them form my life very poorly. I don’t want and don’t like children, I don’t live in constant tension (despite oppositional views and actions), and a hare for me is just a hare. Obscurantism is disgusting, but I don’t agree with it.

In Russia, the truth is pretty lousy medicine. The roads are a little better. But I am not at all ready to exchange my current life for smooth roads or a tiny chance to live longer. At these words, someone broke out in a cold sweat on their forehead and trembled limbs – well, that’s why I say that all people are different.

I won’t tear my shirt on my chest either.

I stay in Russia not because I want to fight for something. I stay here because it’s organic for me. I do not exclude the option “to fight” in the sense of “showing a civil position” at all, but I do not make it the content of my life either.

I want to be honest with myself, and the honest answer is that the move no way will not change the content of my life. Neither plus nor minus. The latter, however, is not obvious.

I feel comfortable in Russia, but not always in other countries

I remember my first and only trip to Germany. I have always considered this country one of the best in the world – purely for objective reasons. A high standard of living, beautiful cities, a developed economy – yes, it’s just heaven on earth.

And finally I ended up in Germany, yo! The standard of living was still high, the cities delighted and surprised, and the economy still inspired confidence in the future. Sausages and beer turned out to be ten times tastier than in Russia, local museums won me over with a variety of exhibits, and April suddenly turned out to be as warm as summer in my hometown.

And yet, I hated Germany. The German language tore my brain to shreds – the next country on the trip was the Czech Republic, and I could hardly restrain myself from kissing Slavic speakers on the gums. The people on the streets had a strange and unaccustomed look. They behaved differently at a table in a cafe, communicated differently, gesticulated differently and felt the world around them differently.

I must say, in the same Czech Republic, I did not have such a feeling. As it was not, for example, in England. Or in Russia.

I am not at all going to tell fairy tales that Russia and Great Britain are on the same level of development – I just don’t want to run headlong from both countries. I don’t want the same – either from the UK or from Russia.

Back to moving

It doesn’t really matter to me which country I live my life in. It is much more important that life still be

own

.

In Russia, I do what I want to do without any problems. A couple of times I encountered difficulties that are nailed to this particular country – but these were not difficulties from the “Struggle & Hopelessness” series. Yes, the little things in life. Moreover, in these situations, the terrible (no kidding) Russian authorities and the terrible (no sarcasm) Russian courts took my side.

For me, the question “to bring down or not to bring down” simply does not arise. But there are many other questions – and it is they who truly determine mine life. And it just so happened that the answers to these questions do not depend on the country of residence.

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