On my Saturday walk home from the food pantry where I do some work, I made the spur of the moment decision to turn right off of Haight St. and climb the steep hill into Buena Vista Park. Despite having walked past the park dozens of times, I had never ventured in. Not surprisingly, with its hilltop views of the Bay, the bridge, downtown, and Oakland, it has a Buena Vista. At the top, a few people sat taking in the view facing north towards the Bay. Flowers were in bloom, and tiny birds flitted in and out of the bushes. I didn’t stay long, but was glad I had stopped.
Still wanting to explore, I chose a different route for my walk home, a different hill to climb and descend, a different street with different shops and different patches of light and shadow. As I made my way up Divisadero St. toward Billionaires’ Row, my music library shuffled to the song “Under the Bridge” by the Chili Peppers. I hit rewind to re-listen to the first lines again, “Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a partner / Sometimes I feel like my only friend / is this city I live in…” “I walk through her hills ’cause she knows who I am…” It struck a chord.
Just prior to “Under the Bridge” coming on, I was noticing all of the people sitting in the sun eating brunch at the different restaurants and cafes. I had been walking behind a young family whose elementary-school aged son was throwing a bit of a fit because he was tired and didn’t want to ride any further on his bike. Little did he know they were about 30 feet from their end destination: a popular coffee shop with outside seating where they were meeting friends with whom they would hug and laugh and catch up.
It had already been a gorgeous day (sunshine, people, trees and flowers in bloom, sweeping views) and I was feeling deeply appreciative for my life in the city. I have a lot of moments, when I’m in awe of how beautiful and vibrant it is here. People are always out doing things, and nearly every time I go somewhere, I see something new. A week ago, I passed a park where I noticed a lemon tree bursting with bright lemons. Earlier in the day on Saturday, before visiting Buena Vista Park, I watched a small group of skaters doing tricks on Haight St. – the crowd on the sidewalk cheering them on when they landed one of their tricks. On my runs along the waterfront, I marvel at the bridge and the water and the city skyline. I visit tourist spots to remind myself that people travel from all over the world to see and experience the beauty that’s in my back yard.
The net effect of experiencing the city this way is a sense of pride mixed with belonging yet maybe not in its fullest sense, a sense of deep gratitude mixed with the desire for something more. Sometimes, it will feel as though I’m witnessing the city, I’m seeing it, I’m exploring it, but not necessarily living it. There are parts of Bay Area life that I suspect I will never experience (the extremes of high society or skid row), but in the middle, there are lots of lives being lived.
This is usually when I feel the urge to expand my circle and build additional relationships – go out to dinner relationships, sunny day brunch relationships, or picnic in the park relationships (I already have hang at the bar and go for a hike relationships nailed down). This is when I want to show people around, or have them show me around – swap experiences, or build entirely new ones. I think that’s why the song lyrics struck a chord. A feeling of solitude amidst a city’s embrace. It hadn’t occurred to me, at least not quite so plainly, that the city, while certainly not my only friend, is one of my more reliable and interesting friends – a friend whose bounty often exceeds its limitations – yet, like the deepest of friendships, can’t ever be fully known or seen.
As I’ve come to learn, and even appreciate, gratitude often walks hand in hand with longing. Living in the city will sometimes remind me of how I lived in other cities (Philadelphia and Memphis). It will remind me of the 180 degree flip I’ve made from being a suburbanite to being a city-dweller. There was a time (back in 2016 or 2017) when I was living in the suburbs outside of Philly and I was certain that I didn’t want to date anyone who lived in the city. I didn’t want to deal with the day in, day out nonsense and frustration of traffic and parking and all of that stuff. And then, naturally, I met someone who changed my mind, someone whose neighborhood I got to know, someone who made traffic and parking worth the trouble. We’d go out to restaurants, or swing by the grocery store to pick up some food and cook together. While I was only going in to the city once a week or so, I began to like the bits of city life I was experiencing. I then dated other people who lived in the city, went to more restaurants, jazz shows, comedy clubs. Eventually, I met someone with whom I quasi-lived with in the city. We’d walk around the neighborhood. We had a local bar and a neighborhood taco spot. We’d try out new-to-us restaurants, and go for runs along the river. Her city life became our city life and redefined my sense of place.
Though it took a few iterations, in many ways, I’ve managed to do much of what I sought to do when that relationship ended – which was to build that kind of life and sense of place on my own. I had some of it in Memphis, very little of it in State College, and most of it here in San Francisco. I take neighborhood walks almost every day, and go for runs along the Bay a few times a week. I have a neighborhood bar and on the weekends, I’ll go hiking or explore other parts of the city. While I don’t have a favorite taco spot yet, I do have a few go-to spots for food and happy hour specials. Yet, despite these deeply fulfilling and familiar things, I haven’t forgotten the tug and joy of co-exploration and sharing.
And the 180 degree flip? Now, I avoid dating people who live outside of the city. Maybe I’ll be more open to it when or if I get tired of city life… or maybe I’ve shrunk back to my old pattern of not wanting to deal with the nonsense and frustrations of traffic and parking. Some of it is that I assume people who live outside of the city, do so for a reason or have already done the city thing and had their fill, and I’m not sure I want to get into another situation where I’m trying to navigate lifestyle preferences. I don’t see myself giving the city up any time soon. Sometimes, when I reflect back, I’ll wonder if my desire to see city life through the other person’s eyes (as I was experiencing it then), was the only reason some of those past relationships worked. I’ll wonder if that enthusiasm was what kept us afloat.
By the time I crested the hill on Divisadero St. and saw the Bay below, the song was coming to a close. I did what I usually do when I see the Bay – breathed it all in. In the face of such beauty, I thought the city is a pretty good mistress: enchanting and beautiful. Walking down into my neighborhood, I reminded myself to be in the moment, make fewer assumptions about what I will or won’t enjoy, and be more open to possibilities wherever they may be found.