A coworker mentioned to me awhile ago that San Francisco is a great city to come home to. I didn’t really get it at first, but this past week, it struck me as unusually insightful.

I was in New York for a good five days last week. I had fun; met a lot of people, had some great food, wandered around for some cool sights, etc. It was my third time in the Big Apple, and I still found myself incredibly excited to be there. Just something about it that gets my adrenalin going. This is all despite the horrendously muggy weather.

But despite my affinity for NYC, I found myself getting just a tad homesick. I wanted the fog, the steep hills, the wider roads, and did I mention the fog? I found it markedly different from the last time I was there (which was pre-911); I had wanted to move to a studio in the East Village, and try to make it as a writer. Now I’m happy to be in foggy loony SF, living amongst geeks, while still, well, trying to make it as a writer. I guess some things are the same no matter where one lives.

So when I arrived back, it was literally like a breath of fresh air. The strong gust of wind, the freezing jackets-required climate, and even the curious lack of a comprehensive public transit system — I felt a great sense of relief that I was HOME. I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt that way in any other city, and I’m not even from around here.

I guess this entry sounds like a love-fest, and I’ll admit that it is. Despite the problems this city has, its pros seem to always outweigh its cons, at least in my book. There are secret little cafes that nobody else seems to know about, hole-in-the-wall Asian joints that serve up the best noodles known to mankind, and let’s not forget the veritable haven this place is for geeks of all kinds.

In short, this entry has been an ode to the City as Home. Just ’cause I feel that way.