Argonaut

I could hardly believe it the other night when I found myself at the harbor again, this time looking west at the Golden Gate Bridge, its distinct orange color siphoned into the soft haze created by the glare of the sun beginning its decent in the early evening sky. Having just returned from the east coast, I hadn’t expected to be at the water again so soon, but when I booked a last minute trip to the Bay area for work, I didn’t think twice about a detour to Fisherman’s Wharf, not only to get my fix of the salt air before vanishing into the vortex of the Silicon Valley, but to remind myself of how far I’ve come since my last visit here.

You could say, to quote an old cliché, that I’ve left my heart in San Francisco.  It’s here, a little over five years ago, that I ventured out into the world as an unmarried woman.  The first vacation I’d ever taken solo, I barely stopped moving for two days straight, covering every inch of the Wharf, Union Square and The Haight on foot.  I treated myself to Breakfast at Tiffany’s, literally at their doors when they opened in the morning, a cable car ride (you can’t drink your coffee aboard, in case you’re wondering) and a lux and cozy room with a canopy bed at the Hotel Monaco.  It was pure decadence; the first time in my life I had ever truly spoiled myself with such guiltless, narcissistic pleasure.  

Ascending the nearly vertical inclines of Nob Hill is rewarded with breathtaking vistas, but the climb to the top is reminiscent of the caped crusaders scaling sky scrapers at a horizontal pitch. They made it look easy, but it really isn’t.  And that’s probably the best way to describe my foray into this engaging city all those years ago. 

While the thought of a vacation that was all about me filled me with a jittery excitement, it was also incredibly scary, symbolic of the new chapter of life I was embarking on.  I was wary; however, I was also unwilling to suspend my life while I waited around for the right companion to enter and undertake adventures with me. If I wanted to go anywhere, it was up to me to take myself there. 

Whether it was eating at a sit-down restaurant, soaking up the sun on the steps at Union Square, or taking in the Golden Gate on a pier at the tip of the Embarcadero, exploring this city offered just the practice I needed to get comfortable in this world without someone at my side. The cool thing about testing new waters on a vacation is that you are instantly rewarded for your intrepidity at nearly every turn.  Having drooled over the prospect of an afternoon in Haight-Ashbury, you can imagine how I felt returning to my hotel room, exhausted, with shopping bags full of one-of-a-kind vintage treasures from this storied artists’ haven.

I pushed myself hard over that long weekend.  Driven by my desire to see every point of interest that I possibly could, I forced myself out the door and into the world, even though at times it felt much safer to sit nestled in my hotel room noshing on room service. I was determined to prove to myself that I could do this on my own. But I tried to be forgiving, too.  I remember telling myself that the timetable was mine.  I didn’t need to see everything.  There was no one I was disappointing if I missed some famous attraction.  And when I chickened out and brought a glass of wine back to my room instead of sitting at the bar and sipping with strangers, I reminded myself that courage and confidence build over time.

San Francisco was the start of what has become a regular practice of putting myself out there.  And I can tell you it absolutely gets easier the more you do it. Every day presents opportunities to go out on a limb. And each time you grab one, the next one looks within reach too. You are stronger and braver than you think, really.  

Returning to this city, I feel immediately at home as I revisit the familiar sights.  Street vendors proudly display gorgeous Dungeness crab, the prized catch of the day, amid the tourist shops.  Cable cars slice up and down the center of impossibly steep streets. The Ghiradelli sign still sits atop the hill overlooking my coveted bayside seat at the infamous bridge.  Before I leave, I scoop up my requisite handful of sand, a souvenir from yet another shoreline visited, to be jarred, tagged and added to my growing collection.

The view from the top is, in fact, breathtaking and worth every bit of the sometimes painful climb.  San Francisco will always be my city, like no other could be.  It’s here that I found me.