Those familiar with my personal history might remember that shortly before my wedding, I got “lukewarm feet.” I loved my fiancé and wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But I didn’t love where he lived in rural North Carolina. Nor was I keen on his friends, who would have to become my friends since I was leaving behind everything and everyone.
He explained that this place was temporary and that we had a lot of better options a year from now, like San Francisco. I’d never been to San Francisco or any point west of Virginia, but I knew it was a big, big city filled with lots of culture and smart people. I didn’t know it felt like winter even in July.Well, we never moved to San Francisco.
Still, I thought back to that conversation almost 27 years ago as I helped my older daughter and her boyfriend move into an apartment near Chinatown and Golden Gate Park. It’s a nice neighborhood for 20somethings, especially 20somethings with way too many books and a brand new Keurig machine. I loved helping her unpack, if only to extend the stay a little while longer. Judging by the number of upbeat texts today, she’s settling in nicely though struggling to find where I put everything.So maybe I never got to live in the big city as promised, or at least as planned, but a part of me now does. By the way, that place in North Carolina? It turned out to be my favorite of all the places we would live.