Tuesday, October 29, 2013

San Francisco Calling

Mom and me in Union Square.
It's getting cold in Denver. 34 degrees cold. Running with a hat on and seeing your frozen breath cold. Cold. To be honest I haven't really missed California much....until now. That doesn't mean that there are not a few select people whom I miss (you know who you are!), but I haven't really wanted to be there, until this week. For whatever reason this week I wanted to be in in the bay.

I'll admit, I always got a bit of a buzz coming into the city on the days I worked in the office. I would ride the BART in with the rest of the commuters, reading the paper, checking my email. I would stop each morning at the bagel place and stand in line with the suits and the trendy twenty somethings waiting for my coffee and toasted everything-bagel thin with cream cheese. I would walk nearly a mile down Battery Street, passing by competing agencies and just feeling...the possibility that a big city brings.

Of course we didn't live in the city. No, Oakland was home. With three kids a dog and an income which did not allow for a $1.5 million dollar home, the city was not an option. We kicked ourselves. Why hadn't we done this years ago, before the kids, when we could have lived in a funky apartment in the Mission and gone out every night? If only...

That isn't to say that I never went out in San Francisco. With some regularity I met a girlfriend for dinner in the financial district. We dined at Barbacco and the Tadich Grill, drinking generous pours of Pinot Nior and making a dinner of fancy small plates. I went for occasional happy hours and lunches with co-workers, and when my parents came we went to Union Square.

This week I wanted nothing more than to experience the buzz of Union Square. The tourists, the bright lights, the panhandlers... the heart of that city. It's where I met Alan Young (you can read about him here), had some amazing dinners and drank cocktails with my parents while taking in the view. I felt myself thinking I wish I was there. Right. Now. Okay, and maybe there is a part of me wishing that  I was also 28 in San Francisco.  I have this fantasy of dressing up, and spending the entire night exploring the city and all that it has to offer.

That isn't to say I'm not happy in Denver. I am. It's home. I'm not sure I was cut out for big-city life, but this week, I felt the pull of San Francisco calling.

1 comment:

  1. I was 23 in San Francisco. I made more money than I ever had before, or ever have since. I had $200 dinners on a random Tuesday just because I could. I lived in Nob Hill right on the cable car line, in a walkup with two walk-in closets and a bay window. I partied. More than I ever had before and ever have since. I fell in love with my husband in San Francisco.

    And I left. Because I found no heart there. No soul. You don't want to be there now.