In the middle of a reminiscence that felt a little like a conjuring, I wanted to get outside. I wanted to walk to that part of town where the manicured lawns and red brick buildings look like an east coast college campus. I wanted to be near trees and the earthy smells of late September. I wanted to feel the breeze as it rattles through the fallen leaves.
This happens. A word or a line or a poem will set my mind adrift. Today, while contemplating the morning gray, it was a poem about autumn that had me straining to recreate the season. Autumn in San Francisco isn’t as bold as it is back east, and in my remembering I longed for the scents and sights that used to be so familiar – those first few dew damp leaves on a path in the woods, patches of sun filtering through the trees, apples in the market, orchards not yet wintered over. The mental conjuring came and went, came and went. It was like trying to grab smoke. For the past two or three weeks, the grocery store has been stacking pumpkins, gourds, and spiced pine cones on the sidewalk outside of it’s automatic door. Whenever I stop by, I’m transported, briefly, back home. I’ve wanted to linger in that space.
I’ve been trying to locate the poem in all of this. I’m not sure if it’s in the longing or the near remembering. Or maybe it’s in the effort. Have you ever tried so hard to remember something that you could almost smell it or grasp it or feel it? This is how my day started – meditating on autumn.
I followed that urge to get outside. I walked west towards the Presidio (the place with the lawns and the red brick buildings). A decommissioned military base turned into a national park, the Presidio is about a 20 minute walk from my apartment. Upon entering the park, I was greeted with the fragrant and earthy smells of flowers and trees. It wasn’t the smell of fall that I had been looking for, but within a few minutes, I had nearly forgotten about that quest. I walked along the paths past well maintained palm trees, many of them squat and full. Hummingbirds flitted through the bushes and hovered by the flowers. From Tunnel Tops (a recent addition to the park), I sat in a red Adirondack chair and looked out over the marsh and the Bay. I walked home along the beach at Crissy Field, up past the Palace of Fine Arts, and back past the shops and restaurants on Chestnut Street.
For much of my walk, when I wasn’t marveling at nature and how fortunate I am to have easy access to so much beauty, I was thinking about simple pleasures, and living a simple life. I would do this type of stuff (just walk around and enjoy the world) most of the day every day if I could. The problem is, sitting on benches doesn’t pay very well – and I’d be ok with that if it weren’t for the food and shelter thing that this pesky human body requires. There’s a cruel irony in that having access to beauty often comes with a price. In order to live in or visit a place like this, one has to spend most of their life working. Something about the math of working five days in order to enjoy two doesn’t seem right. I’d love to flip that if I could: work three enjoy four? This is when I most wish I had pursued and succeeded (financially) at being a poet – then I’d get paid to walk around, look at clouds, write, and live. This is when I’m most tempted by the siren call of ruthless capitalism – wishing I could earn enough to live forever off the fat of dividends and interest. What’s it take? One million? Two million? I’d swear to call it quits after accumulating just enough. Short of that, in order to pursue my dream of being a man of leisure, I’m either going to have to hit the lottery, find a benefactor, or marry a sugar mama. None of those paths seem likely.
Back at my apartment, I looked around and thought, man, maybe it’s not a sugar mama but just a girlfriend who would split the rent. Together, we wouldn’t need much. We could each work well-paying part-time jobs and make the finances work – and then we’d have lots of time for living life. We might even be able to afford to go back east in the fall – and then I wouldn’t have to spend my mornings meditating on it, or running into the woods, or trying to decide if I should buy some scented pine cones.