Sometimes it feels like I rolled out of bed one day and was suddenly in my thirties. Even though I was living with roommates and partying nearly every day of the week like I was 22, the sunny sky of San Francisco somehow seemed to get me up bright and early each day for a new adventure. Time passed by like water through my fingers. Lots of people call San Francisco “Peter Pan Land” because you could be any age and behave like you’re 22. You could live with roommates, go out every night of the week, have 10 jobs that add up to just enough for rent, usually rent-controlled, of course. This was especially true for my circle of friends in the Mission District, but I’m not the only one with this kind of SF experience.
The City had this way of getting you cheap drinks at your favorite bars and you were never far from a delicious burrito for dinner. Gorgeous parks and colorful Victorians were the perfect backdrops for every kind of party and concert you can imagine, and to top that off, there’s the majestic California coastline to recharge your batteries. I’m barely scratching the surface here, folks.
It felt like my friends and I were all living the rent-controlled dream with our golden handcuffs, yet life was not all that glamorous. Right outside our door, at the corner of Crack Pipe and Hepatitis, we would have to barrel our way through catcalls and the rank smell of urine to go about our daily lives. Not to mention, drinking was losing it’s charm when the tech bros arrived in their cute little hoodies.
Excuse me while I barf. Oh, and forget Dolores park. The time of death for Our version of the Mission District had come. Thank god those cute little hipster boys closed Boogoloos before the tech bros could claim that one, too. #RIPwhitebelthipsters
I called it quits on San Francisco just before my thirty-first birthday and moved up to Seattle to live in the “sleepy” neighborhood of Capitol Hill. For those of you who don’t live here: it’s not, I’m being facetious. But to me, Capitol Hill felt very neighborhoody by comparison. There were grassy front yards and a fresh smell of rain in the air. Don’t get me wrong, I missed San Francisco and its wily ways of getting you into trouble any day of the week, but Seattle had a lot of fun stuff, too. There were mountains less than an hour away, water everywhere you look, and a cool, unpretentious arts & crafts scene that I was instantly drawn to. Though it was overcast a few months out of the year, I had a thousand hobbies to keep me busy.
And so I kept busy. From indoor gardening to learning to cook a little better…and what I really mean is learning to actually cook. I made it my passion to find all the local antique malls and deck out my house with charming little vintage planters. I’m basically 38 going on 65, and I’m totally cool with that. In fact, I decided that actually growing up wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
I should mention right now, I’m very much *not* the coolest kid in the club. I’m from fucking Iowa. Most of you will be quick to point out that it is a flyover state or some other derogatory comment that I might argue has created quite a rift between our coastal elite tribe and my home turf. I heard those kinds of things a lot and it would always make me bristle because I have pride in where I come from. On the other hand, it’s still no excuse for idiocracy (looking at you, Midwest) but I digress…
The long story short is that Seattle was a good call. I didn’t experience the Seattle freeze at all. That’s probably because I landed here like a stuck up bitch from the Mission District and couldn’t tell if someone was being indifferent to me. What? I was used to being around assholes. Despite that, I did make quite a few friends. For what I lack in social grace, I make up for with humor, entertainment, and fun.
If I could describe Seattle in one word, it would be “understated” – and that is a huge compliment. I didn’t know how to appreciate it right away because I’ve always gravitated to the garish and loud, obvious things like four-on-the-floor beats, bright colors, and sunny skies. There is something soulful about being “understated” and I’m trying to learn how to tune into it better myself.
While dating in San Francisco was so bad that you would start to question your sexuality, Seattle was not that bad. I happened to meet a guy I couldn’t get rid of. He bought my art and took me to boozy brunch every week for a year…or five? Of course, I had to marry him. Turns out, skipping the wedding and going to the courthouse was the perfect, understated, beginning for a really awesome marriage. Thankfully, I never took anyone’s advice to settle for anything less than the love of my life.
By the time I was thirty-five, I was seeing my friends starting families, buying houses, getting married and all that fun stuff. Of course, I was also seeing my friends sorting their way through rent increases in ridiculous tech cities, divorce, illness, substance abuse. I have to make an effort to google and learn all my friends’ diseases for chrissake!
My life hasn’t been a picnic, either. I lived through my father’s three year battle with cancer…and I honestly *hate* when they call it “battle”, even though I just did. Not that it was my first experience with family loss, but that’s a story for another day. Lots of adulting has happened in the last decade and it hasn’t been much of a disco party. Becoming grown up is hard!
Of course, you take the good with the bad and just roll with it, because that’s all you can do. We have to celebrate our little victories and moments and nurture the ones we have, whether they have fur or poop in diapers and make you clean it up. I prefer plants these days but you do you, friend. So for all of you in the best and worst of situations, let’s have a laugh and a big glass of vino and make the most of it.