Thirteen years ago today, I arrived in San Francisco. I walked into my new house at 11:45pm on Wednesday, June 30, 1993.
Thirteen years later, San Francisco is different, but that only makes it more the place I fell in love with when I first saw it with my own eyes. I am different, improved. Older, and wise enough to know that wisdom comes only with experience, not intellect.
Thirteen years ago, I was 29 when I arrived and Allen was 35. We had a dog, Randee. I worked for a little Mac software company two blocks away from where I work now, the center of the Mac universe.
Thirteen years ago I knew I would survive a partner. And a dog, for that matter. I knew I would survive no matter what. For the rest, I had no idea what was in store for me, and I liked it that way. I could list the bad things that have happened, and it would be a very very long list.
But the good things? Those are ineffable.
For me, ineffability always beats the torpor of a file of complaints.
Thirteen years later, that has not changed.
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13 YEARS IN SF! WELL SF AND THE BAY AREA HAVE BEEN HOME FOR ME ALL MY LIFE (SOME 43 YEARS WORTH) UP UNTIL 3 YEARS AGO WHEN I MOVED TO SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. BUT IT’S TEMPORARY,I HOPE, UNTIL MY SECOND DEGREE IS FINISHED. THEN I WANT ‘HOME’BACK. YES, THERE IS NOTHING LIKE SF AND NORTHERN CALIFORNIA.
YAP, SF HAS CHANGED QUITE A BIT. IT DEFINITELY CHANGED, IN PART, 13 YEARS AGO. 😉
I agree, wisdom comes not with intellect, but from something other than experience. Or at least, not experience as most people mean it: age.
We’ve all known someone who was wise despite their years. Perhaps it is experience through active observation, or time-compression, or some such. But I’ve known too many aged fools and too many wise youths to say I know what wisdom comes from. Or is.
I’m glad you’re still happy.
My favorite word to describe Life is “bittersweet”. It’s a word for a little concept that really is a big concept.
As I peel my onion, I delight in finding others who are peeling their own.
It’s why I find myself coming back here so often.
Thank you for sharing your perspective, so eloquently, with us.
i’ve never seen those streets, or walked through that town with the ships that sail through their own history under the ground.
like this comment, i live it all anonymously. there are hundreds of millions just like me, maybe. maybe not as crazy. maybe all reaching for a feeling of connection that isn’t really there; after all, it’s a ‘place’ made for ‘things’ that eat, root, spread our jeans. die. rinse, repeat. we fall in love with what we think we see, i think. and it’s all somewhat random, like this.