I landed at SFO last night with a heavy heart. That was the last time arriving here would be arriving “home”.
In July 2008, I moved to San Francisco from Toronto with two suitcases, oodles of optimism and not much else. No job. No work visa. No friends. No address or phone number. Just a feeling in my gut that I couldn’t shake. A feeling that the next chapter in my life was supposed to take place in San Francisco. I just needed to get here and the pieces would fall into place.
I was a 30-something single woman looking for love. A teacher looking for a new career. A travel junkie looking for a little adventure. More than anything, I was looking for somewhere new to call “home”.
San Francisco welcomed me with open arms. I took a huge risk on this city and she paid me back in spades. Amazing friends. Incredible adventures. A new career. A wonderful husband. And a beautiful baby boy.
Seven years later, and it’s time for a new beginning. In less than a month, I’ll be boarding my one-way flight east to start a new chapter in Asheville, North Carolina. A chapter that wouldn’t exist if I didn’t book that one-way flight to San Francisco seven years ago.
I am not ashamed to admit I’m a total cliche. San Francisco, you will always have a piece of my heart.