Once A City Girl

It is time to write about Sacramento. Though its mention has been present in all of my blogs and is clearly the catalyst behind the title and my move, I have been remiss about a focused post on the city itself.  In part, in order to unveil the overarching storyline, it was a necessary, deliberate strategy to disclose a series of expositions about the people, the circumstances that have catapulted me into this newness.  And such stories will continue. But it is time now to step into the present and share my thoughts on the town that now surrounds my day to day living.

Recently, in both local and many news feeds/papers, an abundance of stories are being written about what seems to be an influx, an exodus, an arrival of people to Sacramento—especially from the San Francisco Bay Area where the cost of living and the ramifications of a city torn apart by its explosion of riches as well as corruption has driven out many in search of a viable, affordable lifestyle. Compelled by its affordability, its promise, and perhaps even the film Ladybird, Sacramento has become the new promised land. Sacramento has been presented as a neatly wrapped compromise with potential.

For me, it is all of the above plus a lifelong connection through friends and circumstances. I always seemed to meet and strike up relationships with Sacramento natives whom I know and admire as intelligent, fun, and yes sophisticated individuals. Hence, always a positive link. And the thread that they all have in common…is they LOVE their town. I remember telling a college boyfriend, “You talk about Sacramento as if it the best place in the universe. Don’t you want to discover possibilities? Don’t you want to…go to a museum, taste wonderful food…walk across a bridge and look upon a town entrenched in the beauty of its history?” His response, “I already do. I live in Sacramento.” At the time, I thought that one of us was missing the hyperbole in the conversation and, clearly, I did not think it was me.

To me a city is defined by the “culture” of its neighborhoods and the beauty of its landscapes—infused in its own sense of place and indefinable je ne sais quois. That is what makes a city unforgettable. You love something you cannot really define…you feel it your bones, in your heart. And I understand that cities are not picture perfect. I am used to the rawness of a city as well its beauty. I understand the grittiness of a back alley and concrete barrenness of bustling streets. Actually, I prefer visiting the diversity of cities vs. a vacation in a picture-perfect resort of pristine beaches, manicured golf courses, and infinity swimming pools. 

My daughter said to me recently, “You are such a city girl. You cannot expect Sacramento to be New York or Paris or even San Francisco. Give it a chance”.  I thought I was doing just that. If I was going to be happy, if I was going to stay (and who really enjoys moving), I totally understand that I needed to really get out there and discover the real Sacramento.

I was told by a local that you can drive from one end of Sacramento to the next in 20 minutes. So, I put the theory to the test; what better way to learn the flow of its infrastructure, the nuances of its neighborhoods, the backstory to its expanse. So, every day, I would allocate time to get in my car (everyone drives in Sacramento) and, without any assistance from Google, I would self-navigate in my exploratory quest.

This is what I learned…

• ·       One minute I find myself in the midst of sprawling ranch houses. Very suburban California. And then I discover, as I come to the outskirts of such neighborhoods, though still similar in the architectural look and feel, the homes become simpler and smaller. The picket fence is replaced by a barbed wired enclosure. The well-manicured lawn gives way to front spaces ridden with overgrown weeds. The BMW that occupied the driveway becomes a pickup under an aluminum carport. 
  
• ·       Then all of a sudden, I turn and behold beautiful streets lined with wonderful, architecturally diverse homes and enormous trees. Very East Coast; as if driving through Westchester county. As I reach the outer perimeters, the homes become smaller yet remain equally charming,
  sitting nestled under the abundant umbrellas of sycamore and maple trees. Lovely parks dominate, bursting with roses and ponds.  There are even quaint neighborhood restaurants and bodegas.
• ·       Then…boom again! I am driving down wide, muliti-laned Avenues boasting an endless stream of shopping malls, chain restaurants, car dealerships, and Good Will stores.
• ·       There is even a water slide park and the county fairgrounds situated across the street from a business park. Silicon Valley landscape that I always found somewhat Kafka-esque.
  
• ·       And still, more surprises and changes. I find myself before the grandeur of the State Capital and adjacent burgeoning “hip” restaurants and hotels.
• ·       Next, a “confused” downtown business district where new entrepreneurs seek to leave their financial imprint and reclaim abandoned, old office buildings.  
• ·       Finally, there is an Old Town, a historic replication of early Sacramento that now bursts with tourists, tacky stores,and the “other side of the tracks”.

That/this is Sacramento and every version of the city therein.

As I drive, I recognize that the residents also change with neighborhoods. The surbanites in their Lily Pulitzer dresses and polo shirts give way to the guys in their motorcycles which then transitions into young hipsters who are filling trendy coffee bars and restaurants. (Which, by the way, are way overpriced. $75 for lunch on J Street? Seriously?) There is ethnic diversity but again, the identities are confined by neighborhood.  Unlike other big cities where, via walking or an extensive transportation system, people seamlessly move throughout its multi-cultural streets, Sacramentans drive within the proximity of their local needs and simply go home. It is the tempo, the lifestyle of the city.

Do note that I am now guilty as well of practicing such boundaried living. I have established my routine and get in my car to go to the local mall. For the first time in my life, I even bought a cup of coffee in one of those Starbucks drive throughs at the mall by the grocery store, dry cleaners and nursery.

Thankfully, there is culture. A town is not merely defined by its latest microbrewery or local reading at the main library. The potential and possibilities abound in Sacramento. The Crocker Museum is a wonderful richness of art. There is theater—both local and national touring groups. There is a bounty of concerts—for whatever your musical tastes. I have yet to find a small movie theater that offers independent films but I am relentless in my search and I will not stop until I find it as well as more art offerings. Hopefully I will share my discoveries in future blogs.

At this point, let me say something about the weather. I have now lived through Winter, Spring and find myself in the midst of a long hot Summer. And I love it. I love the mildness of a winter day, the lovely comfort of Spring sun and, yes, I am fine with 100+ degrees. I also love that Sacramento is only a couple of hours from the mountains so there is snow in the winter if wanted and a mountain coolness in the summer as a getaway from the intense heat. And Sacramento has a great airport. If you really need to get away, it is so much easier and affordable to travel out of this hub.

And let me end with this little story and personal reflection…

Recently, I was driving my daughter and my granddaughters to that very Sacramento airport. The city lights of the skyline were aglow against the night’s blackness. My granddaughter was asking me to identify this building or that one. I could not name one. I realized that was the first time in my life that I lived in (or even visited) a place that offered a skyline completely unknown to me. How can that be? Then she said, “Look at that, how pretty.” She was pointing at the Tower Bridge, also lit up against the backdrop of darkness. When I first arrived in Sacramento and came upon the bridge, I thought it small and, well, just beams of yellow (why?) steel. It was not the iconically majestic Brooklyn Bridge or my old beautiful friend, the Golden Gate. But, you know what, in that moment, I realized that my granddaughter was right…it was, aglow in its unique charm, magically pretty.  It is a real-life bridge.

Now, six months since my arrival in Sacramento, the assimilation continues. Not only is this the first time I did not know the names of the buildings in the skyline, this is the first time that I do not look to a city to engage and define me. It is really not up to Sacramento to make me happy. That is quite a responsibility for any city. Maybe I am finally realizing that city life and a city girl does not always require an all-encompassing enchantment. Happiness may just be a 20 minute drive in an every day journey. Maybe it is simply being solo in Sacramento. 

Maybe.