Sixteen months in San Francisco. Holy cow. I feel as though I've lived within the frame of a postcard for so many days. Similar to what we learned with Blue Velvet's ear, though, surface-level beauty and sunshine doesn't a perfect life make.
I'm anxious here. A lot of people perpetually bustle. Muni rarely provides a pleasurable experience. Web developers take precedence over virtually any other professional skill. I can hardly hear myself think.
But the pho! and the men!
The men. How they prance. So many from so far. Each one restless, grappling for something. The surface-level fun of it all strains to contain so much pressure for genuine connection. Sex isn't the ultimate satisfaction - a truth etched into the older ones' faces.
And the twenty-somethings! With their bikes on the park under the sun passing a joint. How I would so like to feel like I belong among them, instead of like some kid who's a perpetual tourist.
Those twenty-somethings. They each know more people in this city than I will in the entirety of my life, but in most cases, those relationships are hollow. Everyone is an acquaintance. Few are actual friends. It's hard to find friends when you're pinballing between start-ups and don't know which surreptitious individual it'll pay most to shake hands with.
Oh San Francisco. I really don't know about you. Love. Hate. Not very many in-betweens.
But you weren't all for naught:
- I Freelanced as a copywriter for the coolest hybrid arts agency ever.
- I worked for almost an entire year within the Wikimedia Foundation.
- I witnessed firsthand the influence of Apple on an Apple-mad culture.
- I got to strut my stuff down the streets of the Castro on warm nights.
- I relished an eager, youthful relationship that impacted me for the better.
- I will never have to wonder what it would have been like to live here at 23.
These experiences will only shine brighter with time.
It's been formative, yo! Onward and upward.