Learning to fly

San Francisco,

That’s it. I am one of these folks now – the ones that are leaving you, abandoning the billionaire playground in order to find rooftop bars, cheaper rent and a little bit more heart somewhere else. I’ve been criticizing you for quite some time now and you know why. I have to admit: you will always be my bohemian home, my nerdy love, my psychedelic friend and my flaky drinking buddy. But the truth is – I need to finally spread my wings and take off.

Over the last six years you taught me how to see through various layers of life and shine light in the beautiful but also ugly corners that are usually labeled as too difficult to discuss. You taught me how to challenge the status quo, to challenge every existing and solid idea, just because progress is not possible without destroying antiquated structures. You are really good at sparking a heated debate over politics in an Uber Pool on a Friday night and you are never tired of protesting evil idiots that are in power. Because of you I spend too much time on Twitter.

You helped me find my own unique identity as an immigrant. I was a pretty confused half Russian, half Ukrainian immigrant in Germany. Now I am a less confused German immigrant in California. I’ve always disliked the concept of “us” and “them” and I’ve always wanted to be in a place that welcomes everyone. You are that place. When I drunkenly asked “But what am I? Where do I belong?” You replied “Girl, relax. You are everything. Everything you want to be: a wild mix of cultures, values and experiences that are part of your magic universe.”

And yes, magic! That’s something you taught me to find on a mundane weekday. How to look at the world in awe while observing the most normal things: the moments when the fog starts rolling into the city on a cold summer day; urging me to drink faster, passing the Golden Gate Bridge and approaching the green hills of Marin; knowing that I will ride a few small waves in Bolinas in a few minutes. The sunset at Ocean Beach, the grumpy but heroic surfers at Ocean Beach, the coffee walks at Ocean Beach.

And then the not-so-normal things: being completely hungover on a Monday after Bay to Breakers, waking up in a tutu, covered in glitter. Running after delivery robots and trying to talk to them during lunch time. Helping friends come up with business plans for their robots. Or lying in a ball pit at a house party in Haight Ashbury while eating candy cotton and discussing how tech can help protect presidential elections. Moments in your ocean took my breath away – when whales passed by me when I was sitting on my board, when dolphins and seals stopped by and when I finished my session during cold sunsets; freezing and incredibly happy at the same time, chatting with locals who have been living in the Outer Sunset for over 40 years and gossipping about tech bros. I’ve always loved that.

You showed me how to hug my sadness. Sometimes things need to fall apart, they need to break into pieces to make place for something new. 2018 was the year for me where things really started to shift. First there were small ramblings that were easily ignored over a glass of wine, then it turned into a major earthquake. I got sucked into my visa anxiety and felt like I lost my freedom and my ability to be me, a fearless girl who doesn’t care where home is and what visa she is on. Somehow you managed to guide me through the emotional rollercoasters in between lawyer consultations, immigration policy changes and work. My stay in the US is still not certain and might never be – but for the first time I am okay with that.

You forced me to grow. Oh hell, sometimes it was the hard way, pushing myself way outside the comfort zone in tears and anger. You made me question myself very often, from time to time letting me feel like a loser, probably because you simply attract introverts with imposter syndrome. You put those gigantic summits in front of me and told me to climb. The funny thing is – once I reached those summits that seemed unconquerable for me, I stood on that exact summit and asked myself: “Okay cool, nice up here. Where do we go next?” It must be some kind of maniac trait or just plain optimism that removes boundaries from our thoughts while we live here.

Ultimately, you taught me how to fly. You taught me how to push it, to jump into things that deeply scare me, that excite me but I am not ready for, knowing that I might land on my face, bruise myself, hit a wall or might just completely fail in my endeavor. You laughed off my fears and told me not to quit, just to try again and again and learn – because in the end it’s all up to us if we decide to stay on the ground or if we fly and reach for much, much higher. And that is probably the most important lesson you could have given me.

San Francisco, you will be missed.

Aljona Tcherniavskaia