Twelve Years Before I Knew It

Today while breaking for lunch, I stepped into Lucca at 22nd and Valencia, wondering why I go there a few times a year and not weekly. It recalls the types of places in the Mid-Atlantic that make me miss that part of the country so much. The Italian boys in white aprons certainly add to the appeal and are another key part of what I miss about the East. It helped that it was such a crisp and bright fall early afternoon bordering on perfection. I felt a weird wisp of nostalgia, but as I walked by the first place I lived in when I moved here, I suddenly realized today is my 12th anniversary of living in San Francisco.

Retracing the familiar sidewalks of the past dozen years, I thought of the many betrayals, regrets, mutually unreturned phone calls, emails I regret having sent, emotions still lingered but never expressed, passions never explored and other discomforts that linger so many years later.

Returning home and putting away the various jars and cheeses wrapped in butcher paper I was reminded how some of the things that I long for and feel that I am denied may be just down the street.