I feel like I just want to make a confession on the blog nobody reads.

Walking around Cupertino, I had a flashback to college. Leaving the Wal-Mart in Redding, I was bound to see a few friends: some cute guy who would stop and talk for a minute, a group from choir who I thought were especially cool, the nerds I thought were smart and unique who would put on random artistic events--or perhaps that special someone I'd been hoping to see all day...

I'd always stop by Starbucks after getting pictures developed at Wal-Mart (obviously having no qualms about viral retailing), and not only were my friends running the store, but I was bound to see several more people from school. Being who I am, I would probably join one group or another, perhaps a professor or some older staff who brought work to do there, and we would have some enriching conversation.

If it wasn't school people, then it would be people I had interviewed at some time, kids I had mentored with the school district, somebody I had once worked for. I consider Redding a home-town because of this phenomenon of friendships.

I suppose the same goes for my real home town, though the people aren't quite as thrilling to see. But they knew me, and that is a thrill in itself. When every small business owner has a relationship with your parents that predates your own birth, or when people want to hire you because they used to change your diapers, that's a home-town feel. When you go out with someone and realize you used to be friends when you were six--that is home-town.

Even San Francisco, in my six month sojourn there, was a place that always held thrill for me. Every new cafe was a bonding experience--there simply wasn't an option to NOT make friends and meet new people.

One particular night, there was a New Leaf launch for their new line of shirts (for which I was the publicist and showed up with my camera in all diligence), my coworkers were trying a new Speakeasy (which I rushed to a bit too late, but still enjoyed), and friends from BAAYF were down on 5th watching 300, to which I also arrived late. Still, three groups, converging in one great city... at any given weekend, you could find friends in San Francisco. And at any given point in your life, you can find someone who accepts you for it.

That is the miracle of that city.

Driving over the bridge, I often imagine the two towers embracing me as a mother and father, moving me into the city, dense with fog, where every corner is a haven away from expectation and judgment, but still sweetly presenting, in the warmest manner, self-knowledge and enlightenment.

So, the confession:

Something is gone. Is it hope? Is it expectation? Am I at fault for giving it up? Is it true that I don't have as many friends, or is it true that I'm not as friendly? Which part is dead, and is it a better thing? Am I more settled and ready to start something real, solid, lasting?

Was that candy I had at one time, and is this the real food?

Was that vision I had at one time, and is this me living it?

Or have I simply settled in for the long haul, perhaps making vision into drudgery.

I think I certainly still have the dreams. I certainly still have the vision. But the real work has started, and there's no avoiding that.

So I will return to San Francisco someday--I pray I will...

But this time, maybe I will be the one offering sweet self realization to those people in the corner cafes hiding in the haven of the foggy bay-side city. Perhaps I will have something to offer back to the musical calm that gave me so much. Perhaps I can make a home-town around me somewhere, someday, to heal others and give a respite for souls.

I'm sure, wherever that place is, it will include a lot of coffee :)