I spent what was probably the pivotal summer of my life – the summer of 1985 – studying Chinese in a third-floor walk-up studio apartment at Haste and Telegraph in Berkeley. The great virtue of the place was that it was west-facing and had an unobstructed view of the bay and the City.
There are a number of cities in the world where the mixture of water and skyline creates a magical effect at sunset. Hong Kong is one, and the view from Kowloon toward the Island at sunset changes the character of the city utterly. Shanghai along the river is like that, as is London.
But there is something about San Francisco viewed from the east at sunset that will be for me forever precious. And I know it is more than a view. It is a nexus in my soul where the view, the time, the place, and what I was doing all come together in a moment of such emotion and beauty that the heart aches just thinking about it.
I want to call it “love,” but it is a love that is neither the love of a spouse, the love of a child, a parent, or a brother. It is a love of life, a love that celebrates the wonderfulness of being alive, being you, and being on a journey that goes to ever more wonderful places.
(Photo credit: Tony Park)