Country roads, take me home

Ah, California.
Home? Historically, yes. This week, I am visiting relatives and friends, watching my lovely cousin get married, and enjoying my favorite national park before gallivanting off to Europe:

San Francisco is where I spent my first 18.5 years of life. But in the last ten years, this city has undergone some pretty significant changes. I’ve had to pick my jaw up off the floor looking at restaurant menu prices and gas prices. The rents my friends and family pay are terribly legendary. Some neighborhoods have undergone subtle but noticeable changes, and some neighborhoods are nearly unrecognizable.

The pulse of the city feels different. Tech buses, construction, gentrification, Google, Amazon, Twitter, Facebook. Traffic was terrible before, but now it is utterly abominable. Clipper cards!?! Sports teams that do well!?!! I am a proud yet half-assed Giants fan and have been for roughly 21 years. Admittedly, I was unaware of the Golden State Warriors’ existence until perhaps two years ago. Of course, I have also changed quite a lot since I was a kid in the city, but it’s more than just that.

Some things are unchanged; the delicious/diverse food options, the massive homelessness crisis, the fog, the hills.

In any case, I feel lucky to have grown up here, and lucky to have such excellent friends and family still around to visit.


One thought on “Country roads, take me home

  1. Lmer, I also admittedly had no idea who Golden State was either until extremely recently. 🙂 WHOOPS! And who are all of these humans and where did they come from??!?!

    Love ya and loved that pic of Kyla Bee.

    Dani P


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s