Matt

Near the microwave tower atop Bernal Heights Hill
Bernal Heights
Sunday afternoon

***

Last year, a friend asked a rhetorical question on Facebook: If you could live anywhere in the world—though you still had to work—where would it be?

I consider myself a respectable traveler: I’ve visited 35 countries, lived in three, and spend a month-plus on the road each year. Still, I racked my brain for a solid two minutes—an eternity in Facebook time—and couldn’t think of anywhere even close to as terrific as San Francisco.

First off, it’s shit-your-pants gorgeous here. Views smack you in the face from sunup to late-night taco. Sparkling water on three sides; multiple skylines; knifing, gorgeous hills. It never ever gets old.

Tradition doesn’t matter. There’s no way we’ve always done it, no shackles to the past. Wanna walk around naked or enjoy a brewski in the park or throw a massive pillow fight? Fuck it—go for it. Hell, I put my first novel out on Twitter—and landed a book deal.

People are nuts, good nuts—smart nuts. Once I saw a human catapult at Bay2Breakers. An entire fleet of Pacman characters chasing each other at Halloween. A dude playing drums while riding his bike. Doing the Thriller dance en masse in Dolores Park. If you measured cities by creative virility, our mascot would be the Octomom.

God I love how much this city reads. San Franciscans talk about books like the rest of the country talks about HBO. Public readings are packed, local bookstores are plentiful and ass-kickingly good, the trains and parks are packed with people reading. The magic of literature still matters, and that in itself’s kind of magical.

The weather rules. OK, hear me out on this: you can bank on a predictable, comfortable temperature range on every day of the year; the fog’s mysterious and eerie cool; and the sun blasts us way more than people acknowledge. Light jacket and jeans and you’re out the door. Plus, where else in the country do you not need a winter coat or AC?

We are drowning in an ocean of spectacular cheap food. Should I ever be tricked into moving, I’ve got my last San Francisco banquet all planned out, for under $50: Farolito grilled chicken super burrito, Tartine country bread, Mitchell’s peanut butter ice cream in a waffle cone with chocolate dip and Shalimar’s saag ghost and Tu Lan’s #17. My friends elsewhere think I’m a snob, and they’re right—but at least I’m a frugal, happy snob.

The technology industry based here represents human progress. Big statement, and I didn’t always feel that way—I moved to San Francisco eight years ago thinking technology was a soulless gadget-freak obsession that fundamentally undermined human relationships. Three tech jobs later, I’ve seen how tech companies can’t survive without a rapidly growing user base, and to attract jaded, distracted, superbusy users you’d better improve their life significantly. So that’s what they do—try to make your life better. Plus, tech companies had zero to do with credit-default swaps or subprime mortgages—and are usually way more interesting.

That’s why I’m here. That’s why I told my Facebook friend I ain’t leaving. That’s why whenever I’m on vacation looking for my flight home on the big board at the airport I still get a little tingle when I remember I’m coming home to San Francisco.

***

You can see a slideshow of Matt’s photo shoot here.

Matt’s debut novel THE FRENCH REVOLUTION has been called “wildly imaginative,” “brilliant,” “an excellent achievement” and more. Visit http://matt-stewart.com

Kelly

Inside the Wild Side West Bar
Cortland Avenue
Bernal Heights
Thursday afternoon

***

I am still amazed by the way in which the scariest decisions I’ve made in life have turned out to be the best ones.  The most rewarding, life-changing, character-building, and happiness-inducing ones.  Like choosing to study in Germany as a freshman in college, moving 6,000 miles away from everyone I knew and into a country and culture for which I barely had the language skills to survive.  And years later, deciding to be happy being single and doing everything in my power to enjoy it.  (Of course, I met the love of my life a few months later.)  And a few years after that, taking a giant leap of faith and moving to San Francisco.

Before I lived in San Francisco, I had never had the pleasure of living in a city that I truly adored.  Sure, I liked things about Phoenix, namely the warm winters, desert landscapes, and the smell of citrus groves in bloom; I enjoyed Flagstaff’s snow-dusted peaks, friendly people, and summer thunderstorms; and I downright reveled in parts of Tuebingen, including its centuries-old castle, outdoor cafes, international population, and heady gardens.  But none of these mild affinities prepared me for how attached I would become to San Francisco.

It’s not something you can understand unless you actually live here.  It was not something I understood even after several visits.  But now, after 15 months of calling San Francisco my home, I get it.  There is no other place like this city, and I am extremely grateful for the time I’ve spent here.  Even if I someday move away, I’ll always have the experiences gained from seeing this city and its people on a daily basis, from being one of its people.

The longer I live here, the more attached I become.  With every interesting, unique, kind San Francisco resident I meet, my attachment grows.  And my love for San Francisco takes on new dimensions every time I read someone else’s love letter to this city–which I do often.  San Franciscans are nothing if not passionate and vocal about their feelings for this tiny, dense expanse.

So here is my love letter to this city.

Dear San Francisco,

I moved here on a leap of faith: jobless, knowing only a few people, and mostly unacquainted with your myriad neighborhoods and transit lines and weather eccentricities.  A year later, you have given me a good job, a plan to embark upon a career I will love, great friends, and a solid working knowledge of Muni and BART.  Most of all, you’ve changed the way I see things.  I no longer walk around with blinders on, singularly intent upon reaching my next destination.  Now, as I move about your streets, I soak up the views:  interesting details on Victorian houses, strange and new plants sprouting in window boxes, people relaxing on their front stairs, wild poppies growing in sidewalk cracks.

Every morning when I step onto the bus, you serve up a feast for my senses.  I see the sun rising over the bay and fog moving across the hills, shrouding Sutro Tower.  I see rows and columns of Bernal Heights houses marching up the hillside, being sunlit one by one.  I see the streets filling up with parents walking their colorfully-dressed children to school and people hurrying to fill Financial District skyscrapers.  I am happy to be one of the people living within your boundaries.

I must admit that your seasons continue to mystify me. What is this fog that blankets you in summer?  Who knew September and October would be your most beautiful months, with long days, yellow sun, and gentle sea breezes?  Will I ever be able to appreciate your rainy season, which this year included some seemingly endless stretches of clouds and rain?  You, San Francisco, with your microclimates and proximity to the ocean, have taught me never to be without a scarf and an umbrella.  You have also taught me to savor each warm, sunny day that comes my way, soaking them up in the park, walking between tall buildings at lunchtime, or sitting outside at a cafe.  On days like these, I can see you change entirely: suddenly everyone is outside, enjoying you, lingering in your sunlight and on your streets, instead of simply hurrying from place to place.

My love for you, San Francisco, is a daily, hourly, lived-in love.  Your varied architecture, rooted in history, never fails to astound me.  You give me the best farmers market that I could imagine, with an enormous selection of fresh fruit and vegetables, flowers, and homemade foods.  You bring amazing music, art, theatre, and culture to us every day of the year.  You provide endless entertainment in the form of people watching from a downtown bench.

I love you, San Francisco, despite the ways in which you challenge me.  Your foggy weather makes my curly hair frizzy.  You sometimes try my patience with your challenged public transit lines.  When your wind blows rain sideways on my walk to work, I might curse you.  But mostly these lapses are short-lived, and soon my adoration returns.

More than anything, San Francisco, I fell in love with you because you make me feel like I fit in.  I breathed a sigh of relief, both from a personal and a professional standpoint, when I arrived.  I can be myself, fully, from your bay to your breakers.  You are a city chock full of progressive, open-minded, kind people.  You are constantly a leader in environmental and social ideas.  I want to raise children here, with you, because I believe that people grow through exposure to new ideas and new people.  That’s one of the best things about you, San Francisco:  you are in a constant state of flux, you mix the new in with the old, and your residents must live their lives accordingly.

You, San Francisco, are my home now.  I love you for it.

***

You can see a slideshow of Kelly’s photo shoot here.