The Californian’s Dilemma
This week in The Bold Italic, we are publishing The Californian’s Dilemma, a series that goes beyond the headlines about the “California Exodus,” featuring essays from San Franciscans about why they’re choosing to stay or leave. Check back daily for new essays.
I was 11 when I first visited San Francisco and decided, with the innocence and might of youth, that I had to live here.
The memories of that day trip I took with my family are fragmented; hazy around the edges. San Francisco shared characteristics with my hometown of Salinas, California, about an hour and a half south of the Bay. Both are close to the ocean, where coastal summer fog dissipates into warm autumns. But that’s about it when it comes to similarities. Where Salinas is homogeneous suburbs surrounded by farmland, my memories of SF were undulating hills dotted with tall houses painted fantastical colors, all joined at the hip. I felt a sense of wonder that such a multifaceted place existed and was home to a variegated people. Surely, I thought, a shy, smart bookworm would fit in, too.
I took a long-cut to get to San Francisco. I earned my bachelor's degree at the University of California, Davis, followed by years of working in Sacramento. In 1998, at last, I moved to The City and was immediately swept up into the world of building businesses on the internet. “Startups,” we called them. Or “dot-coms.”
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Three short years later, my once frenzied job abruptly ended. What was left: A huge supply of used Aeron chairs, empty office space on Market Street, and the about-face of many of my colleagues who took their severance checks and headed back to the states they called home.
This, of course, was in 2001. The dot-com burst. The city streets emptied. I negotiated a rent reduction on my flat in Noe Valley. I savored the subtle quieting and the 10-minute walk to my favorite afternoon yoga class. I took a then-sparse Muni all over the city on self-guided adventures. I rode my bike on weekends through Golden Gate Park, paused at the American bison, and the windmill near Ocean Beach.
The 2001 economic slowdown and 9/11 seem like a dress rehearsal for today, with the added uncertainty of a global pandemic and ever-worsening fires. The about-face exodus is happening again. Many of my colleagues are moving “back home” or to somewhere they’ve always wanted to live. This is possible for those whose work isn’t bound to an office building; their commutes are now between kitchen and desk.
There may be a dozen reasons to leave — the cost of housing, which I’m grateful I can afford, or the epic homelessness crisis, which has only worsened due to Covid-19. I don’t know what, or who, will remain in my beloved city when the threat of Covid-19 abates. Will the FiDi be a ghost of its former self? Will all of my friends have moved to Seattle or Chicago?
But when I think about leaving, I always circle back to the same question: Where would I go?
I love Manhattan, but only in the fall and spring. I lived in Denver during middle school, and despite a passion for the slopes, I have no desire to shovel snow out of my driveway in the winter. Paris is magic, but if it was difficult to get a work visa in the past, it’s inconceivable now.
Is today’s “California Exodus” different from what happened, or didn’t happen, in 2001? I don’t have the sense that more people are leaving, only that social media makes departures more obvious.
Yes, life here has changed during the pandemic. But if anything, it’s more so reminding me of what I love about this city. Proximity to the ocean, inspiring infinite possibilities, and awe. Canyons nestled between residential neighborhoods, and the vista of downtown driving down Upper Market. The diversity created by a populace of different cultures, inspiring empathy for unique and shared experiences.
Golden Gate Park was alive today, full of bicyclists, skaters, and joggers. Residents gathered respectfully on their painted circles in the grass in front of the Conservatory of Flowers. A jazz band played on the sidewalk, and a few venturous couples swung each other around. We’ve survived so much as San Franciscans — earthquakes, financial collapses, and terrible air quality — who’s to say we can’t get through a pandemic?
Give us a 70-degree, sunny, smoke-free Sunday, and we’ll be out in the park, socializing from six feet apart.
My gut tells me to be patient. This isn’t an end to San Francisco — and it all may just make it even better.
