The other day, my morning started (or kinda started – I was up at 5am) with a run along Marina Green and Crissy Field. The fading, full moon over the Golden Gate Bridge was spectacular. The light in California is different compared to most places I’ve been, and the view was a glorious reminder of why I live where I live. The run wasn’t my best run – mostly because I stopped to take pictures – but it prompted me to think about the places I’ve lived and my various “back yards.” It turns out, sunshine and being near water makes me happy (or maybe just less of a sourpuss). I loved running along the river in Philly and also in Memphis. I enjoyed my runs by the Delaware Canal in Yardley. The Bay… enough said – gorgeous. The one place I didn’t care for was my suburban landscape in State College. It was a quiet neighborhood. It was pretty in the fall… but it was often gray, cold, and unflinchingly boring in the way suburban subdivisions are boring – streets, driveways, and manicured lawns. No rivers or streams. Pavement and grass.
After my morning run and more than a full day of work (up at 5am), I walked to an Italian restaurant/bar that I like in North Beach. The bartenders were happy to see me and the food was tasty. There, I sat next to a guy who complained about the city in the “this place used to be so much better” sort of way. I can’t speak to the city’s glory days, but I think it (and the region) is pretty spectacular in its present state. I encounter this negativity quite a bit. While I don’t want to dismiss their perceptions or experience, I wish some of the long-time locals could see the city the way I see the city. In turn, their negativity only makes me more grateful for my present moment. On the walk home, I felt deeply appreciative for my sense of place. In some respects, I felt guilty for having so much beauty, diversity, and activity at my fingertips. I hope to never take it for granted. I may have spent the past few years cultivating a beginner’s mindset and an appreciation for wonder and joy, but I also recognize that most people don’t have access to what’s just beyond of my apartment door. Gratitude is easy when splendor is abundant.
Having been here almost a year, I think about place (geography, scenery, community, and culture) a lot. I used to believe that relationships, especially our primary romantic partnerships, were the greatest influence on personal well-being and happiness. I used to believe that home and happiness were defined by the people in our lives – followed by some mix of fulfillment from work and hobbies, community and place. Having lost that primary basket (and all of the eggs I had so delicately placed in it) and having tried out a few different definitions of home has forced me to re-examine those earlier assumptions. Now, I only suspect (as opposed to full-throatedly and unwaveringly believe) that those primary relationships are where we find our greatest joys – with lots of room for lots of other types of joy. Now, and especially here, I’m finding that place and beauty have become my primary relationship. Sunshine, water, scenery, and city vibes have become my daily nourishment.
While the sight of the Bay and the Bridge elicit a pleasant sigh on a daily basis, it’s the novelty of the city that seems to surprise me the most. No matter how routine-driven I become, there’s always a little something that catches me off guard.
On Saturday – I read a short piece about introducing novelty into our lives. The author was pointing out that many of us have gotten into the habit of reading previews/reviews of everything we might do (restaurants, experiences, movies, albums). Anything we might enjoy, we tend to look it up beforehand as though we’re taking out some insurance policy for the time we’re about to invest. I do this all of the time – live life as though I need to optimize the decisions I make. With this notion of novelty in the back of my mind, I set out on one of my city walks. I kept the first part of the walk to one that I’ve done frequently: bleachers at Aquatic Park, Fisherman’s Wharf, Embarcadero. But then I wound my way towards a block party in a part of the city where I don’t spend much time and eventually to a poetry reading in the Mission. Along the way, I came across a lowrider parade – over a hundred cars cruising and bouncing through the streets, and for dinner, I stopped into a restaurant without looking at the menu. The poetry reading caught me off guard because it was funny and edgy and the bar was packed with attendees willing to pay $20 to listen to poetry.
On Sunday morning, I continued my streak of reveling in my sense of place. I stopped by the farmers’ market for fresh bread and fresh fruit. I went to a cheese shop where I bought a wedge of ossau iraty (a French cheese that’s a little like Manchego). I went for another run along the water, and then had one of my favorite, simple lunches – one that feels decadent in its simplicity. I followed this with another walk to the waterfront where I drank coffee while sitting on a bench where I read and watched the people on the beach.
If I struggle with any of this, it’s in finding space for other people and new relationships/friendships – especially now that I’m working. This high level of life satisfaction is, in my view, what makes connecting with people a little difficult and sometimes superficial. When it’s so easy to do almost anything you want on your own, it becomes equally easy to grow inflexible and unwilling to compromise for other people. The urgency for relationships diminishes. I sense this the most when I think about dating people who live outside of the city. I’m not sure I’d want to give up my access to the waterfront and all of the things going on here. I’m not sure I’d want to spend the bulk of my time in another town or neighborhood. Once in a while, the quiet of the suburbs (or something more remote) has it’s appeal – but only in what I imagine a slower and more mature/well-worn relationship looks like. But in order to get there (metaphorically speaking), I’m afraid I’d have to leave here. And with everyone living their best life, the default mentality seems to be the expectation that “if this is gonna work, you’ll have to join me – on my turf and on my terms.” I’m guessing other people feel this way because I know I’ve felt this way: I have a pretty great life – I’m happy to share it – I’m not convinced that what you have is better or enticing enough for me to do less of what I’m already doing. I have lots of what I like and most of what I need – which is a pretty good place to be.