One Woman Revival

Sometimes you need to leave a place to see it clearly. I boarded the ferry from San Francisco heading for Angel Island last weekend, along with my partner and another couple also seizing advantage of the break in the rain to camp for a night on this outpost park in the Bay. We stayed on the lower floor of the ship with our tightly packed tents and collapsible cart loaded with provisions, mostly fruit and cheese. As a result, I did not get the customary view from the deck of the glittering city by the bay pulling further and further away. 

But once we had dragged our gear to the site and set up camp, I could appreciate sweeping vista of tilted sailboats on the currents against the backdrop of a misty bridge. Around 4 o’clock when the last ferry left the island back to the city, a camaraderie settled amongst us. It was only campers on the island now. Night swept in and lights turned on around the Bay as planes blinked on the skyline before zipping away. We had demolished our supply of fruit and cheese so we had our second course of rehydrated noodles with a side of potato chips followed by astronaut ice cream for dessert. It was a chilly evening and curled up in the sleeping bag that night, I did momentarily question the logic of camping. I wondered what would happen if, while we were away, the outside world would slide into the abyss it always seemed to be teetering on and leave us to forage on this island. 

But morning brings new perspective, watching the fog retreat to reveal a fresh day in the city made me think of all the little wonders hidden there and how stepping away had made me feel even closer to them. I realize I have not provided much context for this blog and mostly am just writing to see what comes out. It is my story, how I moved to San Francisco three years ago in the midst of a life tragedy, but also of a city in a bleary-eyed awakening post-pandemic. I grew up in the Bay Area but lived in San Francisco less than a year before moving to the east coast. The city has changed during the 10 years I was gone and will continue to transform into new iterations. I can only to capture it in this moment, as I exist within it, and maybe share an insight or passing observation wrapped in recommendation for a delightful wine bar or charming brunch spot. And then just hope you will stop by again.