Maybe this sounds dramatic, and maybe it is dramatic, but one of the things I’ve realized since I’ve been in San Francisco is that this is the only place that has ever felt like home for me. Twice. Once, for a few months in 1994 before I left the first time. And then, from around 2001 to 2005 or 2006, when I really felt the potential of creating relationships through activism in Gay Shame and elsewhere. Now it mostly just feels like loss, but still there’s a certain kind of familiarity I don’t feel anywhere else. Sometimes that familiarity just feels like longing, but then there will be certain blocks, especially parts of the Tenderloin where I used to walk and I’m flooded with some kind of grounded ungroundedness.
I’ve been gone two and a half years and already I’m a different person. I can’t stand walking on all this cement, not having other options. I don’t understand why there aren’t more trees around, like in Seattle, or a little bit of grass in the sidewalk or even just weeds to soothe my body a bit. I feel more distant, just walking around, maybe that’s what ungrounded about the grounded moments, that when you walk around in a more dense urban environment like this that’s just the way you interact. The way I interact. And I don’t want to interact that way so much anymore.
Plus how exhausted I feel, although I feel exhausted everywhere. But here
I feel exhausted, and think oh, I should call someone, but then none of the options sounds like what I want and then I feel disconnected. I guess that’s what it is here: disconnection. That’s what it feels like, mostly. Disconnection from the place where I once felt so connected. Now I can look at it, and see where that happened, and mostly just feel distance.