It's hard to believe that nearly 14 years ago, I moved myself to California ... far far away from the safety of my friends and family in Ohio. Having lived my entire life in the Midwest, I knew I was ready for a change. And the moment I landed in the Bay Area, I felt an overwhelming connection with my surroundings.
Starting my first job out of college, and having no known friends nearby, it was quite a change for me, and there were lots of tears, lots of nerves and moments of regret. "Did I really just MOVE here?" I wasn't sure I would stay.
And then there was the challenge of finding a place to live. Even back then, rents were just as high, and being 22, I didn't exactly have the means. Thanks to craigslist, I moved into my first apartment on Clay Street, a tight-squeeze, quaint studio perched on top of Nob Hill, "hill" being the key word. It took me almost 6 months to remember this, as there were numerous times I'd leave and come back with too much to carry, with that "hill" in front of me. It forced me to stay in shape, and keep my errands light. A first of many city smarts I learned after spending a year in this neighborhood.
Fast forward many years later, married, a mother, and now embarking on yet another scary move, this time in the opposite direction. The movers came and quickly cleared out our flat three days prior to our flight, so Todd booked us a room at The Fairmont Hotel, a luxury send-off, how perfect ! But it wasn't until we got settled here, that I began to reflect upon where I was ... staring out the window from our room, onto that exact "hill" I first called home. There I was again, back on top of Nob Hill, my last stay (for now) as a resident of the city of San Francisco.