After searching for awhile, I landed a new job and got back into consulting. My first task was to fly to San Francisco for a week of training. I took the opportunity to stay in a hotel near my old neighborhood and I got to walk past my old house and other neighborhood hang outs on my way to the train station to ride into the city.I've lived in Utah for nearly 30 years, but San Francisco is my hometown. I've never quite fit in in Utah, and I think a big reason why is because of the attitudes and experiences I gained while living in the city by the bay. I was nearly nine years old when my family moved to Utah, but a small part of me never left. Every time I eat an artichoke or sourdough bread (I never ate Rice-A-Roni until I moved to Utah), or listen to Journey, or watch Foul Play, I'm reminded of who I am and where I came from. I think part of that stems from the experiences that immediately followed the move to Utah, including encountering the Stepfords that lived on Sandy's east bench at the time. But as I walked past the Lexuses, Beamers, Benzes and other signs of yuppification that lined the street I grew up on, I can't help but wonder if the same thing would have happened eventually.
It's natural to wonder if one can ever go home again once you move away from your childhood home. For some people, the answer is no. My wife's childhood neighborhood in west Sandy was bulldozed for a Silo electronics outlet and is now the parking lot of a Lowe's hardware store. Also, while my father's childhood home in Belmont, CA is still standing, the drive-in theater across the street where he and his brothers worked is now an industrial strip mall and warehouse complex. On the other hand, my childhood home (shown in the photo above) is still there. Its white exterior has since been painted brown, and the empty lot across the street where I used to ride my bike on an often-muddy dirt track now has a small apartment building, but the rest of the neighborhood has been sealed in a time capsule. I was able to buy doughnuts for my new co-workers at the same doughnut shop down the street that made hot, fresh doughnuts decades before anyone had heard of Krispy Kreeme. The convenience store where I used to buy candy bars and sneak glances at the skin mags in the racks in front of the cashier is still there (along with the skin mags, although they're mostly covered up now). The city park my parents led the fight to build is still up the street, although the original tire swings and metal slides have been replaced by modern plastic and composites. The mall on the other side of the freeway has added Target to its stable of anchor tenants and has a BART station with a huge parking garage out front, but I found myself resisting the temptation to switch off the escalator for old time's sake.
I had a great week, and I got to make some new memories of my hometown (riding BART and Caltrain for the first time, getting lost downtown, walking through a scary industrial area after dark with homeless people and drug dealers on my way to the Gold's Gym to work out). But a funny thing happened. I actually missed Salt Lake and I looked forward to going home. My wife and family are here, and even if I managed to find a way to afford to move back, somehow I don't think it would be the same. My kids have only ever lived in Utah, and they'd be in for as much of a culture shock as I was.
Even though my old neighborhood hasn't changed, I'm not the same person I was, and I think that's a good thing. I've been through a lot of refining fire since coming to Utah and I think it's made me a better person. The same phoniness and hypocrisy that exists in Utah exists everywhere (even in my hometown), and had I stayed I don't think I would have been able to recognize it and avoid it. Also, had I not come to Utah, I probably would've gone to San Jose State instead of Utah State (no offense to the Spartans, but I think I made the right choice) and I would've missed meeting my wife and a lot of other people whose friendships I treasure.
So while a part of my heart will always stay in San Francisco, I came home determined to do my part to make Utah a better place, including challenging cultural orthodoxy, driving brain-dead conservatives nuts (thinking conservatives are fine), and keeping high priest group meetings from being boring. It may be difficult, but you'll thank me later.


