I moved from the US to the world's most livable city. After nearly 2 years of disappointment, I couldn't wait to leave.

• Five years ago, I moved from Vermont to Copenhagen for a job opportunity.
• The city is known for its high ranks in livability and happiness, and I had high expectations.
• The language, weather, and social scene were hard for me to adjust to, and I left two years later.

When I moved to Copenhagen in January 2021 for my "dream job," my expectations were high.

I was going to help design a new national museum — full of dinosaur skeletons and other natural wonders — in a place that routinely ranks as one of the happiest and most liveable cities in the world.

Just last year, the Economist Intelligence Unit ranked Copenhagen as the No. 1 most livable city — above places like Vienna, Zurich, and Osaka — while the World Happiness Report named Denmark the second-happiest country in the world, behind only Finland.

Ahead of my move, I envisioned the city as a cobblestone paradise of candy-colored houses, vast bike lanes, and delicious cinnamon rolls — a romanticized fantasy reinforced by a stellar reputation.

Little did I know, I'd come to find myself running at sunrise because it was the only time the city felt like the place I'd been promised.

Reality hit — fast

I grew up in Vermont and lived there while I finished grad school, so I was used to facing long, cold winters.

But immediately, Copenhagen felt different, with the January sun rising after 8:30 a.m. and disappearing around 3:30 p.m. — leaving me with about two hours less sunlight than I was used to at home.

The short days often felt gloomy, with frequent rain bringing a layer of gray clouds unlike anything I'd ever seen — it was like an oppressive, immovable blanket across the entire sky. During the winter months, those clouds could rob the city of sunshine for many consecutive days.

I also quickly discovered why the salary I'd been offered seemed high. Prices in Copenhagen were higher than what I was used to in Vermont, making a simple coffee and pastry feel like luxuries I couldn't afford. But maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised, given the city has regularly found itself on "most expensive city" lists over the past few years.

Running at sunrise became my refuge. Weaving through empty streets flanked by beautiful old houses and canals, I felt like I could see the city's magic.

But beyond those runs, I was struggling.

Despite my best efforts, I had a hard time adapting to Danish society

I spent my first year in Copenhagen taking language classes, exploring street art, and embracing football culture while sipping Carlsberg beers with the Dane I was dating.

Yet, it seemed like there were barriers everywhere. Although I speak three languages, I found it difficult to master Danish, leaving me unable to keep up when happy-hour banter inevitably slipped away from English.

This, of course, didn't make socializing any easier. My colleagues were pleasant, but they already had calcified social circles. I tried to meet new people by attending live music events, but the local smoking culture made it tricky to find bars that weren't filled with cigarette smoke, which I didn't enjoy.

Meanwhile, summer brought its own challenges. Short winter days were replaced by shockingly long summer ones — think over 17 hours of sunlight. This near-constant light wreaked havoc on my sleep, and sunrise runs were only possible before 5 a.m.

In this land of extremes, it felt impossible for me to attain a good balance.

On top of that, so many of the perks that helped Copenhagen earn high marks for livability and happiness seemed designed for someone else.

For example, I didn't have kids, nor was I expecting any, so Denmark's generous maternity leave and excellent childcare were of no use to me.

And although employees here are entitled to a whopping five weeks of vacation time, I felt like I couldn't even take advantage of it because my museum project was behind schedule. I just felt pressured to work more.

I had to accept that Copenhagen wasn't right for me

A year in, my dream job had become a nightmare. It was my second winter, and the combination of work pressure and isolation in an expensive, dark city was taking its toll. I biked to work in the dark each morning and left in the dark each afternoon.

For months, I continued lacing up my shoes for runs, hoping to recapture that sense of possibility. But instead, I felt like I was chasing something that would never come.

The empty cobblestone streets that once seemed quaint were now a metaphor for my lonely existence.

It suddenly hit me during a morning run in early summer — I was done trying to make it work. After securing a job stateside, I left my notice, and just before autumn threatened to transform into another winter, I packed my life into two suitcases. I hadn't even lasted two years.

On my one-block walk to the metro, my suitcases got soaked in the rain — a fitting goodbye.

Looking back, my time in Copenhagen taught me that independence has its limits. Community, balance, and a sense of belonging matter more to me than I realized, and if I were to live abroad again, I'd need to know I'd have them.