The days pass and I keep waiting for culture shock to set in, or for any indication that I have drastically changed my type and city of residence.
And then on Monday we stepped off BART into the Mission and I realized, as I passed the six homeless guys and the drunk peeing on the street, that San Francisco still feels viscerally and completely like home. I’m pretty sure that some deep-buried part of my brain believes we’re just on a lovely vacation here in Alameda.
My question is: will I go on believing that for the next seven or fifteen or thirty years, until we pare down our lives again and go back to a city apartment? Or am I going to gradually adapt?
Mind you, I love it here. This vacation is awesome. It’s just that no part of me believes this situation is in any way permanent.
Hoo boy, my mortgage guy would love to hear me say that.