The reality of my new life

Living in San Francisco isn’t what I imagined. No, I’m not talking about my superficial belief that I’d have a thriving nightlife, or that new friends would be banging on my door. I’m talking about little things. The details that never fit with the image in my head.

I have a new job. I was supposed to work in Union Square, surrounded by tourists, shoppers, high buildings, and bright lights. I’d take Muni to and from work, and my car would sit forgotten at home. A big city restaurant for a big city girl. But I got here and things changed. I changed. I could list 101 reasons why I revised my previous stance about working in a restaurant, but none of those matter. In truth I don’t understand why people are so amazed that I left the restaurant industry. Did anyone truly believe that was my dream?

I regularly said "would you like fries with that?"

I’m getting side tracked. Sorry, pet peeve. Besides, I was always secretly hoping for something new.

I work for a company that challenges me constantly. A place where I am surrounded by creative and intelligent innovators. I have learned so much in my short time here, and my knowledge continues to grow. I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole, and have had to just let go and enjoy the ride. At times my inner stage manager tries to make sense of the chaos, but I’ve discovered how to embrace the insanity. How to thrive within the madness.

I don’t work in Union Square. I don’t work in a tall building, surrounded by bright lights. I work in The Haight, a district that I instantly grew to love. I’m surrounded by Victorian homes, hippies, and sunshine. I drive to work, parking next to Buena Vista Park, and spend my short walk to work reveling in my surroundings. Street musicians say hello, while other people lounge on the grass.

There’s something else that has surprised me though. Another detail of the city that I didn’t anticipate. The nature. It’s so green up here. Green and lush and beautiful. I knew that it was green up here; I’ve commented on it in the past. But it’s not just that it’s green, it’s that you can find nature everywhere. There’s Golden Gate Park. I drive past it almost daily, though I’ve yet to explore it at length. It’s about 1.5 square miles, and has everything from tea gardens, to windmills, to buffalo. There’s Buena Vista Park; I’m convinced that park is magical. Maybe it’s the energy of flower children past. All I know is that it compels me to explore further. To go within the tress, and find the fae folk living within.

And then there’s my backyard. Lake Merced. When I was a little girl, our house was next to Back Bay. I loved to wander the greenbelt, letting my imagination go wild. Walking around Lake Merced, I get that same feeling. Well, an adult version of it. A feeling of tranquility. A desire for adventure. The realization that I can conquer the world. The self-esteem of my youth, before it was destroyed by bullies, rejection, and self-doubt. This isn’t a place to walk with a purpose. It’s a place for me to get lost in myself, and remember my inner power.
My backyard!
In essence, that’s what San Francisco has become. I imagined a big city life. Instead what I found is a place where the grass grows green, people say hi on the street, and I can let go of expectations and just be me.

I found my new home.

Home again, home again.

When I was eighteen, I wrote a short story that focused on one simple theme. You can never go home again. At thirty, I found myself contemplating that story as I took BART to the airport.


I made friends on the flight!

Last weekend was my first trip back to Orange County. I spent the bulk of the time with family, normal moments that wouldn’t have been out of place five months ago. We ate matzo ball soup, laughed at corny jokes, and told embarrassing stories of years past.* I saw some of my dearest friends, and we chatted as though I still lived below the LA county line.

It was the little moments that were strange. My mom moved soon after I did, so I was staying in unfamiliar places. I was sitting in LAX, an airport I grew up at, and having the thought I’m going home. It was startling, the realization that Orange County isn’t my home, that lives moved on without me, and the void that I left was not irreplaceable. Sure my family cannot replace me with another daughter/niece/cousin. But I probably talk with then more now than I did then. Even in my crazy busy moments,** I’m always an email or a facebook message away.

There were two unexpected moments that were perfect for a surprise trip home. I told very few people outside of my family that I was heading down, because I simply knew that I wouldn’t have time to see everyone. But on Saturday morning, I made a pit stop at my old restaurant. I was there for about ten minutes, but I was able to see so many of my old friends. We exchanged hugs, and I remembered how close we all once were. I miss them, and I’m glad that I didn’t try to replicate them up here. I’m glad that my life is so different. Next time I’ll spend more time with them.

Next time. Who knows when that will be?


The other moment was on Sunday evening, Easter. I was meeting some friends, and, in typical Maile fashion, I was running early. Feeling nostalgic, I decided to stop at my old theatre bar for a drink. I went in, and it was virtually empty. Easter Sunday, and all. I grabbed a quick drink, and chatted with the bartender, sounding like one of those old crazy people. ”I moved out of the area, and I used to come here all the time when you were in your old location. I had to stop by.” She humored me, and cocktail finished, I left the bar, prepared to update my facebook with a snarky update about how the bar was empty. And as I’m getting in my car, BAM, I see someone I know. A handful of former theatre colleagues appeared, and I agreed to stay for another drink. We chatted about shows, and my new life. Like with the restaurant, I had this overwhelming sense of community. Of a world that once upon a time, I was an important part of.

My life has changed. I’m still getting to know my new coworkers. My local friends are scattered about, not close enough for an impromptu day at the park. My life is so hectic, I’m not sure if I’d be up for such unpredictability. But one day, I’d like to have that sense of community again.

Can you ever go home again? In my admittedly limited experience, I think it’s less about going home, and more about realizing that you have a new home. That the place with the memories is a part of you, but it’s not who you are anymore.

*No, I will not repeat said stories.
**I’ve been doing homework since I came home