Just over a year (and eleven or twelve haircuts) ago, I arrived in San Francisco. I had been driving around the country for fifty-three days – visiting cities, bars, cafés, and museums. I drove through all types of weather. I camped for the first time in my life – and then the second and third time. I visited several national parks as well as city parks. I went to a blues festival. I met enchanting women. I hiked with strangers. I lidstened to bands in dive bars. I met up with old friends. I ate dinner next to and talked with lots of new people. I fought/embraced ambiguity, uncertainty, my GPS, and small moments of anxiety. I had many many many moments of wonder and joy.
When I arrived, I was excited, tired, nervous, and ready to settle in. I didn’t know if things would work out. I didn’t have a job or a place to live. I didn’t have any connections who could point me in the right direction. I didn’t know any of the landscapes: geographic, business, political, or social.
I arrived on a Monday afternoon. They sky was clear and blue and sunny. The air was crisp. My car’s tires squeaked on the painted cement floor of the parking garage at the hotel on Lombard Street – a hotel where I would “live” for the next few weeks as I looked for an apartment… a hotel where I would use the coffee maker to heat water for instant oatmeal breakfasts… a hotel where I could sit at a desk looking at the palm tree outside my window. Shortly after checking in, I made a beeline to the Bay – to what’s become one of my favorite spots in the city, the beach at Crissy Field. I took a selfie with the Golden Gate Bridge as my backdrop. I sat on a bench and heaved a sigh of relief. I made it. That night I walked around the neighborhood. I don’t remember where I ate. That night I’m pretty sure I slept well.
A year later, I still walk around that neighborhood nearly every night. It’s where I live in a reasonably-sized one-bedroom apartment. The Bay is a short, maybe fifteen minute, walk from my apartment. I still go to the beach at Crissy Field when I can. I go for runs along the waterfront whenever I can and when I’m not too busy or rushed or just tired from the night before.
In the year since I’ve been here, I’ve seen the sunlight in all its seasons. I’ve done a lot of urban walking and exploring. I’ve gone to a lot of concerts (at least 25). I’ve established myself as a regular a local dive bar. I’ve made a few friends. I found an apartment. I found employment. I’ve voted in two different elections. I’ve become a part of the city.
I have my complaints – mostly about how self-absorbed and oblivious people seem and a little about the somewhat vapid nature of my neighborhood. Those two things might go hand in hand. I don’t like that there’s almost no art, live music, or character to my neighborhood. It has almost no grit. Instead of street murals or quirky spaces, we have yoga studios, personal gyms, and bougie boutique stores (three new gyms/yoga studios have opened up in the past few weeks). I don’t like that my neighborhood is mostly younger people – people who haven’t learned the art and value of slowing down – people who I suspect miss the beauty of the real world because their gaze is perpetually cast downwards at the screen in front of them.
But the good of being here far outweighs the bad, and if I want a little more authenticity, I can always visit other parts of the city – and I do. I love that my neighborhood has lots of good restaurants and bars. I love that I’m so close to the water. The views here are spectacular – even the grocery store parking lot has a great view of the Bay. For me, seeing the Golden Gate Bridge never gets old. When I go for runs, I see the bridge in one direction and the city skyline on my way back. When I walk at night, I like seeing the dotted line of red taillights driving up the famous San Francisco hills. When I walk home from some sections of the city, I get a sweeping view of the Bay and hills, towns, and mountains on the other side. And of course there’s the weather. My neighborhood is one of the sunnier neighborhoods in the city. Morning gloom, when it’s around, almost always gives way to sunshine by the afternoon. I’d be surprised if I’ve experienced more than 20 days of full-day cloudiness all year. And while the wind can be biting, the temperatures seldom dip below 50 degrees and seldom get higher than the mid 70s.
It’s been a year since I took a chance on myself and moved to the west coast. It’s been a year of positioning myself close to beauty and joy. It’s been a year of sunshine and city walks. It’s been a year of growth and reflection and deep appreciation. It’s been a year.