Just one of 1,000 love letters to San Francisco

I moved here and I wept with happiness

Just before the summer solstice I was up late working and as 2am turned into 3, then 4:30, I noticed the sky was shifting from slate to navy and I happily grabbed the opportunity to stay up a little longer and see a sunrise.

My favorite sightseeing hill in the city is Corona Heights — of all the unobstructed viewpoints it’s closest to the center of everything and the final 20 craggy feet of bare rock feels like you’re perching on an island of mountain surrounded by an ocean of city.

At 5am San Francisco is still fully asleep and I walk all the double yellow lines through the empty streets just because I can, because at that liminal hour the standard rules of city life are temporarily out of play. Switching to jogging for the last half-mile because the sky grows brighter more rapidly than anticipated; no sound other than the shockingly loud slaps of my shoes hitting the pavement and echoing through the vacant streets.

Corona Heights is completely abandoned at that hour and I discover pillows stashed between the boulders, serendipitously making my rocky perch much more comfortable. I can’t get over the quiet and the stillness and slowly the sun slides up over the horizon, backlighting the Oakland dock cranes into strange mechanical animals and warming my face in the chilly dawn.

Incrementally, imperceptibly, San Francisco comes to life like some miniature world you’re both part of and separate from,and the city noise slowly cranks up almost perfectly in sync with the city lights switching off, like simultaneous turning of two invisible knobs. The enormous Safeway sign just below blinks out and the distant sound of freeway traffic begins to dominate the audioscape. Elements of buildings and skyline and the towering herd of construction cranes along Market shift in and out of prominence as the light moves upwards, and the reflected beams turn the glass skins of downtown buildings in the sun’s path to molten metal.

The flock of hummingbirds is so preposterously, delightfully unexpected that I laugh out loud as they zip at arm’s length,sizing up my red jacket for some absurdly overgrown flower.

Planes take off from SFO and bank westward over my head and I run through my mental map of SF landmarks, major and minor, matching them to their visual locations and greeting them by name. Good morning, Bay Bridge, good morning, Bernal Hill, good morning Transamerica and the Mint and and Dolores Park and Buena Vista and my friends at 1390 Market and the giant rainbow flag of the Castro…

And Our Lady of Sutro, as I’ve anthropomorphized the tower, stands silently, ever-present, watching over it all.

I cried a week after I moved here, and I’m not a crier. I drove to North Beach to pick up my newly acquired bike from the incredibly charming proprietor of Columbus Cyclery and as I hit the top of Russian Hill from the west I looked out past Coit Tower across the bay dappled in sunshine and clouds and totally teared up from the loveliness of it all, completely suffused with gratitude for having the opportunity and means to move to one of the most beautiful, vibrant,creative cities in the world. All I could think was “I am so very, very lucky”.

I don’t want to end up on the hedonic treadmill with respect to San Francisco. I want to remember always how it felt to arrive here and be moved to tears with happiness.

Given the recent kerfuffle over hating on SF, it seemed a good day to share this. It’s one of thousands of love letters I’ve composed to this city in my head.

No city is perfect and San Francisco will sometimes test your patience. We all love to complain about high rent, MUNI disasters,convoluted local politics, or the 6th day in a row of 57° fog in July and there are certainly things that could legitimately be improved. But the city is also full of unforgettable moments and amazing opportunities every single day, just waiting for you to become part of them.

If you don’t love San Francisco like those of us who love it do, there’s a simple solution; don’t live here. Live in the south bay or the pleasant stretch of suburbia between here and there. Go to New York, or LA, or whatever city does tickle your fancy. No judgement. I can only fervently wish for anyone who prefers somewhere else to be as happy there as I am here.