I left my heart in SF

Arial view of my hometown-- Daytona Beach

The famous Seven Sisters of SF

9/20/2010 (Tom Petty's American Girl is playing on the radio.)

I compare my feelings towards San Francisco to any romance. I always admired San Francisco from afar, and intuitively was drawn to it, idealizing it as the place that held everything I lacked on it's steep streets. Florida, my past, long-term relationship, was one of comfort. And compared to my cookie-cutter, hodge-podge of a state lacking any real culture or depth, San Francisco was a dream come true.
In the begining, the rose colored curves with perfectly designed peaks are all one sees. I was infatuated by the crispness of the air, the mystery of the fog, the way it damply soaks the street light, the city muted like a candlelit meal, eager to embrace all who walk the sparkling streets.
But when you STAY, when you enter into a committment with the City by the Bay, you see it's bruises and hang-ups. It's tired. It's poor. The infatuation fades and real life begins. And I can no longer deny that my city, my lover, is flawed, just as I am. But when I start to doubt, when the disenchantment weighs heavy, we take a little stroll, hand-in-hand, and I'm greeted again by it's complicated beauty. And that outshines the grayest days and the bumpiest bus rides.

Train is gonna come

11/8/2010

Writing small. Hands are cold. Phone nearly dead. Need to occupy seventeen minute freezing cold wait. No books. No inside shelter from the cold. I reach inside for something. For warmth. For distraction. For proof. For more. Seven minutes. Seven minutes until the train is coming until the train is coming in seven minutes. The train's gonna come and take me away, take me away from this cold metal space in seven minutes.
The sign next to me reads "dReAm BIG". I have seen this sign before. I made this sign. It brought be here to this cold metal space...
The train's gonna come in five minutes...in five minutes the train's gonna come. It's gonna take me from this cold metal space. It's on it's way. It's on it's way.

The Bus

I saw a child on the bus today, around the age of two, who, for reasons unknown, could not stop smiling. Not toothy grins. Serene, knowing upturns of the lips. Wide chocolate eyed, he joyfully observed his surroundings from the confines of his stroller carefully, passing no judgement.
He sees with fresh eyes the palm tree, the pink purse, the yield sign. I wonder if he's singing "the wheels of the bus go round and round" in his head or if he thinks in english or his own unspoken language.
Sweet child, you carry the preciousness of life in your tiny bones--and I hate the world you now love--knowing one day it will steal your flawless site.

Deliberate Living

July 7, 2010

“...I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” –Henry David Thoreau

I AM FINALLY HERE.

This journey began two years ago: it wasn’t until I saw the red rock of Sedona, Arizona that I understood where the term “GREAT outdoors” comes from. I was awestruck by the Arizona landscape and knew I had to see “the purple mountains majesty” and that my little flat swamp where land meets the water was no longer able to serve this part of me; this part standing on the edge of creation, beckoned to climb.

And so my climb has led me here to California to start a new chapter of my life; a chapter that will involve hiking boots and getting my hands a little dirty. Nature quite literally called me to “live deliberately”. It seems the whole world is going green, now it's my turn.

Closing Time

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

July 4, 2010

Tonight I watched as the fireworks whisled and crackled through the misty Florida sky and thought of all the days before, the 4th of July's gone by, some of the best of times and some of the worst of times. Somehow I know that this one will stand out among all of those before even though it was like so many others spent with family, and bug spray, the sand glued to my feet, the salt of the beach and the smell of sparklers, but I know days as simple as these, as basic as these, are being laid to rest with the only life I've ever known so that another brighter and more vivid display can be seen.
Nostalgia is a funny emotion. So poignantly bitter-sweet. It's amazing how thin I'm finding the line between sadness and joy. But this is exactly where I should be standing. Right on the edge.

First Encounter

10/23/2009

3:31pm. I'm here. I'm sitting at Cafe Puccini in North Beach sipping a cappucino on Columbus Avenue. Beside me is a man on his cell phone blasting the Republicans and the Taliban, going on about how America is about reinvention and the lawyers of Washington are ruining the country.
Sitting here, listening to him go on, I am oddly embarrased and aware of how superficial my thoughts have been over the past few years (as most of my non-working hours were comprised of catching up on the lastest episodes of Gossip Girl or the Bachelorette, happy hours and working on my tan) and I wonder if I have the chops, the cultural awareness, the conconsciousness or even the WANT to hang in a place with so much passion!
It is humbling, realizing the talent and creativity lurking around every antique/unique corner. I think about my life and how difficult it feels for me to even dedicate an hour to my writing. AN HOUR! I feel like a fraud. Strangely enough, I am loving this discomfort! I feel the need to be better here. I'm inspired here. Art is a way of life, not just something to enjoy at your leisure. In San Francisco, it's impossible to skip the details, the city and life are found in the details.

(The man on his cell phone decides to strike up a conversation with me. He tells me NOT to move to San Francisco because the economy is terrible in California and it's only getting worse. He encourages me to by the book "What Color is Your Parachute?" and start reading the Economist. He also tells me to get out of the U.S. and move to Canada or Australia. I am oddly not deterred in the slightest by his warning.)

City Lights Book Store. I read Lawrence Ferlinghetti's "Challenges to Young Poets". Favorite lines:
"Think long thoughts in short sentences."
"Wake up and pee, the world's on fire."

The Beginning

10/22/09

8:41pm, Atlanta aiport. In today's travel circles "all roads lead to Atlanta." Like most here, I'm not staying in Atlanta, just merely passing through, but today I can't help but believe that, for me, all roads have led to San Francisco.
The other day, when stuck in a shallow yet suprisingly sticky puddle of self pity, my very wise roommate asked me if this "problem" would make my life's timeline. Meaning--of all the points in my life that I'll remember at the end, will this make that slideshow? If not, then I'm wasting a lot of energy! She was right, that "problem" will not make my life's timeline. But when I woke up today I was eerily aware that TODAY, this trip, will be a defining moment in my life. It will guide my next steps in this journey, it will clarify my dreams...what I'm really hoping to find is a sense of "home" but can't help but fear this huge expectation is only bound to lead to disappointment. All I know is i'm looking for my life. I'm traveling far and wide and searching for another side of myself, the side that feels stiffled and uninspired by my current environment.
When I actually think of DOING IT--applying to schools, selling my furniture, selling my car, leaving my friends and family, knowing ONE person, it all seems TOO CRAZY! But I feel compelled to TRY! I HAVE TO TRY!