Nah. I'll save all that for darker or more mundane days. Today is about San Francisco...kinda.
Something inside of me only comes alive in this city. There is something about a late evening stroll through the Tenderloin that makes me feel closer to humanity. Then again, maybe it's in the air in the Castro, or at the wharf, or watching the waving tourists snap shots from the top of a double decker bus. I don't know, honestly.
Then I ponder on Boston, or well, Somerville--my current home and the place where lately it has felt like it's all come together (to be vague). I love that place so much, but not the way I love this one (i'm actually sitting in the San Francisco airport after a canceled flight waiting to see if i get on my flight that i'm stand by for writing this in an email to myself on my phone...yikes).
Maybe a good analogy is that San Francisco is like my high school sweetheart and Boston is my current romance. The fact that I never had a high school sweetheart and don't have a current romance isn't lost on me. I'm starting to think that maybe the metaphor is not a coincidence. Maybe my love-for-cities-bone is connected to my romantic-love bone. But in a converse way. All the people I loved were not city people. Our lives planned together were always in the country or big towns. I feign no suprise at the fact that coming into my own has meant a love for cities. (That's not to say i don't love the countryside. I still do, but as my uncle said, "Have a country home for vacations and holidays and a city apartment to live in." Now, wouldn't that be something?!). I've found myself drawn to these cities lately, though. Like maybe here or there I can really be myself. It seems that coming home in the personal sense has meant questioning where home is in the global sense.
And let's not pretend that a lot of why I love these places has nothing to do with who I love there. Boston offered a challenge becuase I moved there with almost no friends. There, my friends are all academics and future clergy (with some glaring exceptions). My first full day in San Francisco, I was reminded that there is more than one way to be in the world. I had lunch with Marissa, who for lack of a better word is an activist and a friend from HiA, followed by coffee with Lauren, an artist (to say too little) and friend from college. In two beautiful (and much too short) conversations, I remembered another piece of why I love this place. Marissa and I strolled through the castro talking about sexuality and Lauren and I sat at a coffee shop where she adjusted her art display, discussing love and the beauty of being alone. I hopped back on the BART and was right back in time to meet my uncle, Brandon who is my longest standing best friend. A quick ride on the muni and we returned to the castro to meet my uncle's friends, John and Mike, for dinner. The laidback tone of conversation, the warm demeanor of my companions, and the ease of transportation characterized my entire time in San Francisco. There's something formal about Boston. Maybe it's the puritan values or the sense of tradition (which even reaches into the queer community, into what a dear professor lovingly called the Ice Queens), but it seems harder to relate to people in Boston. And at school, sometimes it feels like there is always an angle. People have something in mind or are often more interested in being convinced by their own argument than really learning something new. Of course, I've met (and befriended!) exceptions, but the atmosphere is markedly different.
What about home? Where is home for the traveler? I probably wouldn't have called myself a traveler until my family pointed it out to me this last week. I'm off to London and Edinburgh (for Hogmanay) in a few days (flights, weather, and god willing). I drove across the country to a city I visited once for grad school. I'm hoping to spend a year abroad after finishing at HDS. And my mind is always thinking about the next trip (including the ride...more details to follow once I pay my registration fee!). So, maybe it's time to accept some labels, including traveler. The question remains: where is home?
Some say it's where the heart is or where you hang your hat. Perhaps it's where you nail together some wood (or lay some bricks) and buy furniture. Then again, maybe for an academic it's where your books are (if I had a kindle, this might be a little more philosophically daunting, but I don't. And, I don't really want one).
For me, though, in a very real way home is in Amsterdam, where I learned the pure joy of life. Home is in Mexico, where I decided to be an academic. Home is in Denver (and other parts of Colorado), where my childhood, Chloe, and so many, many loved ones reside. Home is in Glencholmcille, where I first felt at peace. Home is in Boston, where I have a community, and a pup, and a roommate, and new friends. And, home is in San Francisco, where I can be whatever I want and be loved. Home is all these places and so many, many, many more. Of course, it's always painful to love. And to love so much in so many places seems always to signify fragmentation, but I have no time for Freud or Lacan. To me, these many loci mean flexibility and a great expansive space in which I can live.
In short, my home is with all of you.
Happy holidays and bring on 2011!
--Sierra and Ace
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| My beautiful, darling Lauren adjusting her installment. She is truly incredible, please visit her site and think about supporting her in her pursuit of her dream! http://www.etsy.com/shop/Quickeningforce |
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| One of her pieces up close! |
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| Her collection specifically for this cafe. |
