In July 2014 I moved to a city I had resisted moving to for 15 years: San Francisco.
Despite having a lot of friends in the city and it being ripe with job opportunities for the type of work I do, I’ve never wanted to actually live here. The weather, the streets, the lack of feeling safe are just a few of the reasons. But the biggest? Cost of living.
I’ve heard horror story upon horror story of trying to find a home in the city and paying far too much for it. And after having lived in houses for the past 8 years I couldn’t imagine going into a tiny little flat with no outdoor space, garage or my own washer/dryer (#FirstWorldProblems, I know).
But when Airbnb called with an opportunity to lead their content and social media efforts, I knew I couldn’t say no to them and would have to say yes to San Francisco. I prepped myself for a difficult road ahead of flat hunting.
On a weekend trip, two weeks before I was to start working, I saw a home on Craigslist that looked terrible. Salmon, peach and bright purple walls. But it was in a neighbourhood I wanted to be in with all the amenities I needed (garage, washer dryer, outdoor space, dog-friendly, private). So I made a call.
When I walked inside, I could see the beautiful bones of its 1941 frame. The original Wedgewood Stove, fireplace and crown moldings had me swooning. As did the views and the very private and big back out door space. With white paint, it’d be perfect.
It was the only place I saw and the only place I applied for, and it became home almost instantly.
So now I’m learning how to nest in a new city yet again. Some of my furniture couldn’t fit up the stairwell (my antique book case) and my couch, by sheer prayer I swear, got in on a 2nd try. A couple of new pieces have been bought (like my new favourite console from Shabby Chic) but mostly, it’s a lot of the same. Just in a different place.