I leaned over my knees, squatting on my backpack, and gazed out at the city skyline from Dolores Park. The park was scattered with people of all types, and everyone was soaking in the rare sunny warm weather. Mexican friends were lounging on the grass, drinking Modeloes and shooting the shit with each other. Hippies were smoking and feeling each other. Various types of music was being blared, and unique individuals were dancing to their own rhythm.
Earlier that day, I had risen at 4:30 to catch a train to the Philadelphia Airport. After waiting a few hours for my flight, I boarded the plane and flew off to the renowned city of San Francisco. As we flew above Lake Michigan, the Rocky Mountains, and Nevada Deserts, I acknowledged I really had no plans or expectations for San Francisco. I’ve heard so much, but I wasn’t really overwhelmed for this journey.
As I was sitting in the park, waiting for Porter to flee from work, my reality sunk in—I was in San Francisco. My future is wide open at the moment, in terms of general direction, but right now, I’m in San Francisco. In the past few weeks, I have been tangled in the idea of my next move and being here makes me grasp the major change that lies ahead. Whether I move to San Francisco or another city, a new chapter in my life is about to open. It is semi-nerve-wracking, but it’s a process accelerating faster than expected. However, there is no need to hang on, but to merely allow fate to take me where I’m suppose to be.