When your first breath has fog in it, the air elsewhere tastes canned. For those of us who were born in San Francisco, its exquisite qualities become an assumption, and we’re predisposed to think of the city as a possession.
I have jealously guarded San Francisco for my whole life. I resided in the Haight, attended school in the Sunset and spent my free hours wandering the Richmond. There was a back door to the now defunct Alexandria Theatre that offered free movies when my friends and I took a notion. Being a San Francisco native felt like having a club membership.
At a certain point, however, I realized that knowing only one city threatened to make me myopic. Having Haight Street as a natural habitat skewed my sense of what is normal and what is strange. Haight Street is not Main Street, and San Francisco is far from Anytown USA. I needed to broaden my horizons, which, in my case, required shrinking them.
My inner coastal elite protested that I was forgoing a global capital for a Midwestern city that wasn’t even Chicago.
When it came time to choose a college, I picked the one in the most radically different environment, a rural Minnesota town called Northfield. The experience taught me two key personal truths: there are worthwhile places outside of the Bay Area, and I prefer cities, even though small-town life has its advantages. Those truths influenced my decision to stay in Minnesota after graduation, when I moved to Minneapolis.
My inner coastal elite protested that I was forgoing a global capital for a Midwestern city that wasn’t even Chicago. The counterargument focused on affordability and the opportunity to develop skills in a reduced-pressure environment that would eventually make me more employable in San Francisco. Even while I was making the decision to live away from home, returning to the Bay factored into the equation.
Truthfully, Minneapolis exceeded my every expectation, but I pined to return to San Francisco. My emotions tipped with the temperature — glum and frigid in the winter, tranquil but sweaty in the summer.
During the six years I lived in Minnesota, I bragged the whole time with my words and my attitude. I bragged about the champion Giants and better-than-Chipotle burritos. Truthfully, Minneapolis exceeded my every expectation, but I pined to return to San Francisco. My emotions tipped with the temperature—glum and frigid in the winter, tranquil but sweaty in the summer. There was no Hawaiian Barbecue to speak of. The most unexpected stressor was being landlocked. The unease crept in over the years, but by the end of my stay, the vast stretches of flat land felt recursive, like the belt of a treadmill. I needed to get off and back to the ocean. In fact, I made some risky and potentially irresponsible decisions to jostle my way back. Now I wonder if I’ve made a costly mistake.
For the sole reason of reclaiming a patch of the city, I abandoned a relationship, healthier friends and professional progress. In other words, I made risky choices contrary to my life’s momentum.
I deserted many of the factors that comprise a full life for the naked sake of being here. Somewhere in Minneapolis, there is a lovely young woman who worked hard but danced with her hips. She was my favorite partner yet, but to her great fault she did not live in San Francisco. Friends stand guilty of the same infraction.
I’m fortunate and grateful to have cohesive groups of friends in both San Francisco and Minneapolis. However, a difficult fact that I disregarded is that my buddies in the Midwest are healthier — fewer hard drugs, more time spent outdoors and a degree of vulnerability that might be considered “Un-San Francisco.” On the bright side, the San Francisco squad is much funnier, but a Friday night out or even a lazy football Sunday requires significantly more personal restraint.
So far, the most consequential choice was also the most avoidable. Moving back without a job was a mistake, outright. I took a digital-focused job in Minneapolis partially to make myself more employable in San Francisco, and in fairness it worked. I’m now literate in a field with ample jobs in the Bay, and that’s great. The fact that I declined a promotion to bolt Bay-ward sullies the opportunity, however.
A job will come along, but until it does, I’m in a race to the bottom with my checking account. In San Francisco, that’s a bit like being in a race to the top with the Blue Angels. For the sole reason of reclaiming a patch of the city, I abandoned a relationship, healthier friends and professional progress. In other words, I made risky choices contrary to my life’s momentum.
Moving back to San Francisco 2.0 has delivered a moment of self-reckoning…I’d rather not play the yuppie game, and living here virtually guarantees I’ll tread water financially for the rest of my 20s.
Those choices incorporate reasons for optimism and pessimism. The city still has unmatchable energy. It’s every bit as beautiful as I remember, and the ocean is my principal salve. This place is invigorating. On the other hand, at a recent comedy show, the comic asked the audience who was raised locally. Two of us clapped. It’s trendy among locals to sneer at newcomers, and I do. Truthfully, it’s a prejudice that needs a fix. It’s unfair and futile to resent new locals for wanting—and earning enough—to live in such a desirable place. But I’ve yet to make peace with feeling like a novelty in my own hometown. San Francisco suddenly feels like a high-stakes city.
Moving back to San Francisco 2.0 has delivered a moment of self-reckoning. I still believe San Francisco is the best place, but it may no longer be the best place for me. I’d rather not play the yuppie game, and living here virtually guarantees I’ll tread water financially for the rest of my 20s.
I’ve fetishized San Francisco to such a degree that I’m willing to live a worse life here than a better life elsewhere.
At the very least, my experience outside of San Francisco left me begrudgingly open to living elsewhere permanently. That’s a previously unthinkable scenario, but it will unspool over the coming months and years. Did I come back for the right reasons? The city is my first love, but it’s time to confront the truth that I’m also drawn back because of the status symbol San Francisco has become. I’ve fetishized San Francisco to such a degree that I’m willing to live a worse life here than a better life elsewhere.
The choices that brought me back here have yielded the most ill-disposed choice yet. I can strip my relationship with San Francisco down to the framework and rebuild it from scratch. That project would require compromises with myself that feel disagreeable. Or I can find out that I don’t have a place in the new San Francisco and be sent packing to some other city that I might enjoy but that can never feel like home. The former may turn me into someone I don’t like. The latter promises to be the defining defeat of my lifetime thus far. It’s another bitter choice in a recent string of them. A chunk of my identity and the foundation of my future hang in the balance.
