I left my mail in San Francisco

Read if you want to know why I ended up leaving the city that I love

I lived in the Bay Area for many years. That feels weird to say since I am still a young person, so it seems impossible that at this point in my life I could have done anything for “many years” – but it’s true. I moved to Berkeley for college in 2011 and I remained in the area ever since (save for one dark year that we don’t talk about). The last couple of years I spent in San Francisco specifically. I had always wanted to live in a big city (instead of just BARTing in from the east bay on weekends to drink) and finally the stars aligned in such a way that I could make it happen. And it was everything I had thought it would be and more. I lived in a 400-something square foot apartment on California Street with my boyfriend, my dog, and my massive collection of clothing and shoes. But I was completely content. I was living the quintessential city life that I had always imagined. I was in pure love. Whenever anyone would ever disparage my SF, I would feel a deep pang of sadness for them that they aren’t able to see in this city the amazing things that I see. I lived in what I felt was the ideal location. I was near downtown and could walk to everything I ever needed. My cramped apartment with one tiny window was perfect for me since I was never there. I was always at work or at the movies or out shopping or getting dinner or having drinks or going to a concert or at a football game. Who needs square footage when they city is your backyard?

When the pandemic hit, everything (obviously) changed. Luckily my boyfriend and I both kept our jobs and maintained our health and no one close to us contracted COVID (knock on wood it stays this way). But there were other consequences. My beloved home turned from a quaint crash pad to a prison of my own design. Literally – my one small window to the outside world had bars on it. My apartment was located in close proximity to FiDi (tech bros, Transamerica pyramid), Union Square (shopping, lots of people, my Boba Guys location), and Chinatown (iconic). These once vibrant neighborhoods were three of the areas hit the hardest during the pandemic. None of the businesses were open near me since pre-pandemic their main customer base had been the workers employed in the surrounding high rises, and now that no one was physically going in to work, there wasn’t a high enough volume of consumers in the vicinity to justify the restaurants, coffee shops, drug stores, etc. in keeping their doors open. Downtown became a ghost town. My boyfriend and I needed to set up 2 working areas in an apartment that was already packed to the brim. We ended up buying one desk for the two of us, putting a foam sound absorbing panel from Amazon between our two “work stations,” as if we were undervalued interns at a telemarketing firm. There were days at a time when I didn’t go outside. And when I did, I found myself cursing past-Gina for renting a place on one of the steepest, largest hills in San Francisco now that the convenient cable cars were no longer available to haul my ass to the top. 

I can spend all day listing the various trials and tribulations of lockdown life in San Francisco…waking up in the middle of the night trying to get a time slot for an Amazon Fresh delivery, going to five stores to try and find disinfectant wipes, being on the phone for hours with various airlines after having to cancel like four different trips I had planned only to find I couldn’t get a refund from any of them…on and on. But you get it. Over time, what were initially minor inconveniences in the scheme of things and just part of adjusting to the “new normal,” became emotionally draining, glaring reminders of the life I had before this and how abruptly it was all swept away. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t happy. I was arguing with my boyfriend, working long hours because what else was there to do, feeling confused and angry. On an intellectual level, I understood pretty early on that the best thing for me was to get the hell out of the city that I loved. It wasn’t San Francisco’s fault…but I needed a fresh start, different surroundings, a way to get out of the rut I was falling deeper and deeper into every day. 

Although I knew I needed to leave, I just couldn’t convince myself to do it. Every time I thought about leaving, I would remember back to just a few months prior when everything was coming up daisies. San Francisco had been so good to me. And I feared that if I left, I would be leaving behind any chances of being that ridiculously happy ever again. So for a long time I stayed put. Miserable. Tired. Clinging to the hope that if I stuck around things would eventually go back to just the way they were and I could put this all behind me.

But one day, after months of uncertainty and numerous bouts of ennui, I finally felt ready to let go. I didn’t want to live in the past anymore…and I came to the realization that staying in San Francisco under these conditions was more likely to taint my memory of the amazing time I’d spent there than bring me any closer to the life I once had. I didn’t want to wait so long to get up the courage to leave that by the time I did, the bad memories outweighed the good. Luckily, I found that my boyfriend and I had slowly come to the same conclusion. So we ended our lease and packed up everything we owned, not sure where we were going next, but for the first time in a long time, excited for what lay ahead. Although I was and am so ready for my next chapter, I truly did leave my heart in San Francisco, and I left my PO Box active too. It doesn’t really make sense because I’ll just have a massive pile of junk mail when I return, but I wanted something to keep me connected to the city, because some day soon…I’ll be back.