The Duboce tunnels out, need to head down Haight Street, my official N-Judah to 1831 detour. Time the light right, and it’s a straight shot from Upper to Lower Haight with enough speed to get you well on your way to Safeway and dumped out onto Market Street.

Sometimes life is perfectly aligned, as a new friend meandering midway through the intersection on Scott Street throws up a hand for a stinging high five as you roll quickly by. 

Two meaningful milestones in an instant, the sublime point in a new friendship when stop and chats aren’t always necessary. When the new city you’ve been living in becomes home. 

In that moment, I would live there forever. I made it to SF, really, actually lived there. The place I’d been trying to get to for so long existed. A hill bomb and high-five made it real.  

I don’t think we’ve ever talked about that high-five, never needed to, but here fifteen years later, it still plays in my head. 

I no longer live in SF. We’re still friends. Similar paths, different lives. Both still trying to figure out what moving forward looks like. 

Theres some famous quotes about gold and staying, but I’ll save you the regurgitation and steal something another friend once told me when it was time to be moving on, “The path is beautiful.”

Yours will be too.