tones of home

View from the GG Bridge, originally uploaded by maisnon.

Flying back from Albquerque, I kept hoping the flight attendant would say it on the intercom, or the captain. I remembered all the moments in the past, innumberable transoceanic flights full of bleary-eyed passengers, or the glorified puddle-jumpers from around the country. I always got a small thrill when it was announced "And if this is your final destination, welcome home."

Floating in above the San Mateo Bridge, no one said it, and it didn't feel quite right. Something tugged at me, and I finally wrapped my sleep-deprived head around it: I do think of the SF-area as home. I feel that small, unique spark. I'm not sure exactly when that happened, but it's here now.

I've been feeling (and have said) that my relationship with San Francisco is a bit of a bad one: I'm in love with it, but it's not always returned. It's been very difficult to connect with people (or, rather, to connect with people who stay around. The vast majority of my peeps have moved, or are moving in the nearish future.)

Still, this is where I want to be. When the parking shuttle arrived back at the lot, the driver put in park, and grinned over his shoulder at all of us, "Welcome HOME!"