My foray to Castro Street was short but pleasant. On the way there, I took the wrong bus, jumped off when it made a turn, backtracked just a block and caught the street car. Kind of like my life, back and forth, and ending up where I am.
In a way, I wish I had moved to SF when I was young and beautiful. The sister of a high school friend of mine did, she declared herself the best dyke trumpet player in San Francisco - for all I know she is still making music in the Castro. Her brother married, unsuccessfully, dropped out of law school because it was boring, came out - managed a farmers market - he died of AIDS in about 1990. He was so smart and so troubled. I never came out to him, I miss him.
In another way, I am glad I didn't up and move to SF when I was young and beautiful. Don't get me wrong, across the country and free from the inhibitions of home, I would have had a great time. But being who I am, where I am, with the people I know, is a product of the convoluted path that my life has taken. Lots of adventures, few that were dangerous, some sadness and heartache (I don't blog about those parts of my life,) and I am who I am, where I am, and I am happy with arriving here.
Would you really rather be someplace other than where you are?