Here is a 2-minute song about how I feel right now.
How I feel is--oddly, inexplicably--that I miss San Francisco.
Sitka is ten million times more beautiful than San Francisco. Maybe not more beautiful than San Francisco was 400 years ago. But exponentially more beautiful than it is now. Baranof Island, on which Sitka is located, is pristine, almost entirely untouched. It's wilderness. It's gloriously gorgeous.
Being here, I realize that love was there in San Francisco all along.
It was inside the hearts of every person in the city.
That is the truth.
And inside the hearts of all the dogs. And all the birds. And all the flowers.
That might sound like hippy-dippy shit, but oh well. After all, this is San Francisco we're talking about. I miss the music of San Francisco. I miss the possibility of music. There were these dance clubs I wanted to go to, but I couldn't get up the nerve, and besides I didn't want to go alone. There was one called Dance Church. I wanted to go there. I love to dance. I so love to dance.
Music has held inside of it a gift that is there, locked inside the music, no matter what else is happening. This is true. There are other true things too, of course, that stand alongside this truth. That's okay.
I miss knowing that the Castro is right there, just across the Bay Bridge. Which is weird, because I was never conscious of being comforted by the Castro being there.
I don't miss the sunshine at all.
I don't miss the traffic, and I feel like I never shall.
I don't miss the way that city people seem to think the only places to Be are inside places. And the way they think outside places are curious temporary places to visit.
But I suspect that eventually I'll miss crowds. I hadn't quite figured out where to find a good crowd, a dance crowd, a huge group of people doing something together that feels good. But I would've found that eventually, I think. Of course, I might find that in Sitka too. Maybe. I don't know. If you got every person in Sitka together at a dance party, you'd still only have nine thousand people. That's just a tiny fraction of how many folks show up at Gay Pride, for example.
It's like I'm missing something I never really had, or never actually engaged. I was engaged in stuff, when I lived in the Bay, but not city stuff. I was engaged in the boring everyday stuff of loving and caring for a person who has no memory. For example. And planning classes and grading papers and eating out alone. It's not that I was disengaged from the actual life I was living; it's just that the actual life I was living didn't have all that much to do with the place I was living that life in. Which didn't feel good. So I left. For that reason and other reasons. I don't think I couldengage the place, when I was there. For whatever reason.
But I can imagine a group of people with whom I could engage a city. I'd like to meet those people.