it’ll be two months tomorrow since i left home, since i packed up my moleskins full of notes and reminders, since i said goodbye to lifelong friends, since my father stuffed five dollars in my purse and joked that this would be an important moment to look back on for a cliched success story.
it’ll be one month tomorrow since i’ve moved into my apartment, since i cleaned my first batch of laundry in a decade, since i picked out my furniture and set my mug on the windowsill to enjoy my morning coffee, since i started to think of myself as living here.
i know the shortcuts now, the streets to avoid, the steep hills that don’t show up on a map when i plan my walks across the city. i understand the weather patterns, how you can almost go through four seasons in one day, and that a scorching hot and humid summer isn’t something i’ll likely experience living here, neither is a freezing snow storm.
i have a favorite park, a favorite doughnut stand, and new speed dials on my phone.
it was instinct that brought me here – an idea, a feeling, an internal force. and as i’ve spent my days walking through the streets of san francisco, i already realize this city has the potential to give me even more than i came here looking for.