Dear San Francisco
Hello, it’s been a while. I miss you. Four weeks ago, I was saying my goodbyes to you. We walked through your Castro District one last time and basked in all its rainbow glory. I got my large sweet and creamy ambrosia coffee from Philz one last time and completed my scrapbook recap of our trip. We waved goodbye to our luxurious condominium at 74 Douglass as our party bus departed. At the time, it was bittersweet, but I was looking forward to returning to my original home. Toward the end of my stay with you, I was missing my poster-covered walls and dark green bedspread, my work families, and the people I left behind on unfinished notes. I was ecstatic to fly again, out of your borders, across the country, and back into the bubble of the Midwest. Even though, before coming to see you I was ready to pop that bubble. I missed the things I had taken for granted like Kwik Trips, flat surfaces, and the slower pace of living.
Now, I regret having ever wished you away due to my lack of understanding of how much you meant to me.
As corny as it sounds, you taught me so much about myself. In the beginning, I had no idea if I belonged there. Was I the right person to occupy this space? I remember the second night, I cried. It’s dramatic, but I am nothing if not a drama queen. I was so in my head about fitting in and afraid that this trip might not satisfy something that I was hoping to have fulfilled. Thank Gawd I was only on my period for the first couple of days, otherwise I might not have ever gotten out of my sad little headspace and enjoyed everything you had to offer. When I came to my senses, I learned that the only person that was holding me to all these expectations was myself. I had a fixed idea of what it looked like to be queer in San Francisco without having ever experienced being queer in San Francisco. That I had to dress a certain way, or that what I say has to be extra bold for people to think I have something to say that is worthy of being listened to. That was not the case. I was allowed to be myself. Whether that was being a talker—sorry—yapper, or a listener. Being loud and bold, or more reserved and quieter. I was allowed to be happy and joyful in my identity which is something I have now come to understand that I deserve.
I learned that there is love all around me. No matter if I’m in the most accepting city in the U.S. or in a small town on a lake in Northern Wisconsin (which is where I went two days after getting back from SF… talk about reverse culture shock). I just need to seek it out. I just need to be open to accepting it. Rather than keeping myself guarded from everything. I found so much love in the areas that we visited, in the endless movies that we viewed, but mostly in the people who were on this trip. It’s funny because I had met and gotten to know these people before leaving, but it feels as if I met them for the second time but on a much deeper level while visiting you. I knew from the moment that we got back and started planning the next time we would see each other, that these people would be lifelong friends and family. I am so grateful for the bonds that were created all because of you, San Francisco. So, thank you. Thank you for providing me with the most beautiful two-week vacation/work trip/film festival that I will ever go on probably. Thank you for being a newfound home to me. I can’t wait for the day we meet again.
