I arrived in San Francisco on a Friday night with my Fiancé, after a 16 hour drive up to the city, by way of the coast from Los Angeles. We made one stop, for three hours on the way up, that was scheduled at Hearst Castle. Something I had wanted to see since I watched Citizen Kane, and I had taken a huge interest in life of the 1920s. Hearst Castle is the most perfect depiction of what life was like in the early 20th century for the arts, and for the wealthiest people in the country. It was at this home that I became humbled by a single chair. It may not have been the exact seat, but it was the seat that F. Scott Fitzgerald sat in. Across from him sat Zelda and Hearst. I had realized then that this small weekend trip was going to change me, that my head would begin to spin, and my thoughts would turn from just going to this northern city to relax, to what kind of a man was I, and what will I learn from this trip to aid my development as a human being and artist?

The Hotel Whitcomb blended in with the old style of buildings surrounding Market Street. Just diagonal from this icon was The Orpheum Theater. The Hotel was built in 1917 and It was a new form of art that decorated its lobby, Art Deco. The city was a large art museum, and there was history in every intersection, and an artistic style unique to the city, and unique to its preservation. The chandelier that hung in the lobby above a velvet covered sofa created a perfectly golden glow as it shone down on a marble floor, and reflected off the mirrored golden elevator doors. It was dream like, and it was a step back in time. I could not tell if my fiancé was as interested in this moment as much as I was. If he could really appreciate exactly what it was that he had just walked in to. Sure, he had just driven nearly thirteen hours, but there had to be a moment for him too, where he had just felt like he was so much smaller than what this weekend was going to end up being. I can not even speak as to if he even found anything new about himself, or if it was just another weekend that he was away from home, that it was no different from our trip the year before to SeaWorld.

Our Hotel room looked out to the city, and not the bay. There was a hill, outside the one window we had, that saw the facades of two more hotel buildings, and a hill in the distance that had numerous suburban houses on it. That first night I had a dream that involved me riding a street car with F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a few others in 1920s San Francisco. I can say that it is the first time that this man has appeared in my dreams. There was a conversation that took place, and nothing was said by me until I asked, “But what did you learn?” To which he replied, “That I was only truly a happy man here, or anywhere, when I could be an artist, where there was no restriction to my inner imagination. I wasn’t working for dollars, I was working to leave something behind.”

I woke up excited at 4am. I jumped up, grabbed my phone and searched for bus routes, the best ways to take trolleys. I wanted to see the city from an angle I had never seen it before. The angle as if I had been living here, and I needed navigation. I learned bus routes as if I were living in this city and I needed to survive. The Powell/ Hyde Trolley car stopped about a block or two away from our hotel. It was the end of line where the track rotated the car so it could head back uphill. There was a small cafe like restaurant in the opposite direction across from a new apartment complex called the Nema. It was towering modern art structure, full glass. In the overcast of the bay it shown white at the top, a rich blue from the glass in the center and grey from the roads at the bottom. The cafe looked out on the streets where people watching was something of an adventure. Large Coats, no coats, people in running shorts, dogs in small vests, and scarves all blowing in the wind. There was personality in everything. Even buses that passed all stood for something. There was a recognition of Palestine advertisement on the side of one; another had an advertisement speaking the gospel of veganism.

It was at this moment, that my fiancé, Chad, decided the best thing to do was to walk to our destination, The Walt Disney Family Museum. It was an hour walk through the city, from Market Street to the Presidio. All uphill for the first forty minutes then down hill the last stretch in the park. We bought our public transport passes for three days. It would allow us to ride every form of transportation in the city. So, we started on Powell, where we went uphill following the trolley tracks. We must have gone at least 20 stories up, in a gradual incline. The entire way up, I could not stop talking. I was pointing out dogs I saw walking down the street. Weird little sight seeing things, and most importantly imagining my life in the city. I talked about getting a small apartment maybe a little home, near a park, so we could take the dogs for walks, and somewhere we could let the kid run freely. I created small stories about trips with Jarvis, our future corgi, and stories about our husky, who has still yet to be named. But the most important stories were the stories of us, the ones where we took our little one, Michael out into the city. Where he could literally discover culture endlessly in the city of San Francisco. Those were my favorite. I talked out of breath as we ascended, and quickly as we descended down the hills so as to focus more on my balance, and not the stories I was creating. Then we had our argument. We can not move out here with a husky, they are made to run, we need somewhere where there is land for him to be free. My case, there are plenty of uphills we can walk and he will get exercise, we also passed tons of parks, all with very dog friendly areas. The challenge find anyone with a husky in the city to prove that my stories were possible.

We arrived at the presidio, a dog’s wonderland. Still no sign of a husky. The metaphor for both of our differing dreams; mine taking place in San Francisco, and his in any place but. The museum blossomed before us like a flower just after a spring rain. It stood there in the foreground of the Golden Gate Bridge. My artistic side was again challenged, Walt knew what he wanted, and he knew where he needed to be to get that. He needed Los Angeles, for his character, his personality, and above all his dreams. Walking through the museum I learned nothing new about Walt Disney, but I learned so much about myself. It was filled with art, in all different mediums, it was a depiction of a new renaissance man. So where was I now? I looked at this new place and thought, there has to be something that will say where my true future lies, there must be something here, and it was, the spirit of Walt Disney was just a reminder that I myself needed to move. Somewhere needed to present itself to me that would allow me to be my true self, in which I could fit in.

Then we rounded a corner and went into a room, and there was a wall of windows looking out over the bay, and the bridge laid herself out like an art model ready to display herself to the world in her natural beauty. She shined in the small amount of sunlight that had now made its way to the city, and she blushed at her accidental popularity, the way a new actor would at a premiere. There was no reason to believe that this little European city in Northern California could not be my future home.

My fiancé stared at every exhibit intently. He read every posting, looked at every piece of art, every small detail, studying. Loving. There were moments in my tired state that I just stayed back, and watched him wander the rooms staring into cases, moving closer to signs to read. I look back now wishing I had taken more pictures of him in this studious state, because it was truly beautiful.

Our vacation continued, with new stories, that centered on what family vacations would be like. At one point on this walk in the city we passed a car driving by with a husky in the back seat, head out the window, enjoying the cool moist air. My Fiancé said it didn’t count, that it needed to be walking in the city, not driving through. The stories went on about Jarvis, and Mikey, and that damn husky, who we can not figure out a name for. We walked the bridge.

The city seen from the bridge was the city seen for the first time, it was a view that scared one of us, and enticed the other. We rode the bus back to the hotel, and we watched the Orpheum theater prepare itself to allow the city in to enjoy Book of Mormon. Our vacation was best at night, when it was dark, and we reminisced on the day passed, and drifted to sleep, ready to begin again the next. My dreams centered on life in the city, some nightmares without Chad at my side. Others wonderful in which my stories from the day played out before me in beautiful wonderment. We went about the next day doing more tourist attractions, riding street cars, and ended with a trolley ride back to the hotel, the Powell car that we refused to ride day one.

There was a small moment in my intense terror of holding on to the side of the trolley looking backwards, because at one time I just happened to get turned around, looking back at Chad who was also holding on, heading uphill, that I could see the city in the way I wanted to the whole trip, in motion. I fell deeper and deeper in love. When we arrived at the hotel we went right to bed to rise early and begin our trek back home.

On our last day in the city a man walked a husky passed our car. There it was in all its glory, I jumped excitedly, and Chad groaned saying that we almost made it out the damn city. Then I lost my excitement, but not my happiness, and most definitely not my love. That what I was looking for to be a symbol, a sign, saying this is where I was meant to be had lost all its value. What I had fallen in love with in this city, was not the city itself, but the hand that was in mine the entire time. The comfort that it had given me. The face that stared at me the entire trolley ride to the hotel. I fell in love with this man all over again. I came to the city hoping to find myself, and I did, I found myself not needing more than I have. I found the love of my life wanting to explore with me. I wanted something to show me where I belonged, and it had been with me the entire way up the coast, and it had been with me all four days until I finally reached my own bed. This sign and this symbol, was in every story I could tell, in every dream I wanted to come true. So, yes, I left my heart in the city, but it was left in the hands of the most wonderful souvenir to bring back with me, a wonderful re-falling in love.

The city may have been beautiful, but it was he that I learned I wanted all along. All the way down to the goodbye kiss on my forehead, when we made it home. I did not discover myself on this trip, I discovered us.