I wake up in San Francisco. The chaotic rush of cars down 19th Avenue stir me each morning. The mellow sunlight peels my eyelids open. I stretch my legs across the brown cushions. Then, I remember where I am: sprawled on a friend’s couch in the Sunset District in the city of San Francisco. I am homeless, unemployed, and in debt. Yet, I somehow still feel an overwhelming sense of liberation in contrast to where I used to be: stifled and withering in a small town nestled in the dead center of Nowhere, Washington; 10.8 square miles of scrawny vineyards, the snow-covered vines whispering to each other, ‘sleep now.’ I burned a bridge in that town. I wonder if it still smoulders.
Today, I woke up in San Francisco. There are mountains just there, in the distance. And the Pacific Ocean, a tram’s ride away. My heart is intact and I am alive, breathing.
I am unbroken.
I am full of potential.
Every day, I wake up in San Francisco: the sunlight dancing about the living room, bright like eager smiles, or eyes in-love. I think about how far I’ve come. Where will I go from here? Who will I be? No, none of that. I am here, and I am me.
Learning how to stay, learning how to be.
Heart At Bay 