Through The Tunnel
I recently visited friends in San Francisco, my 4th time there. This time we visited Land’s End and walked through the tunnels and paths where I had never been before.
Every visit to San Francisco I think about the first time there — a school visit to the Academy of Art college and also my re-integration into American society.
I had moved back from Denmark only a month prior. While staying in Minnesota, I opened a TCF bank account the day before my trip and set off for San Francisco with a checkbook and $200 in cash. I took off in the morning from Minnesota and landed a few hours later in a place that seemed like I had been transported to a combination of old Victorian Chicago and South America. I was entranced by the colored houses, the tall trees and steep hills.
I stayed at a run down YMCA in the Mission District, which I’m sure has been torn down now along with the Adult Movie Theater across the street from it. The occupants were a mixture of once homeless men, former street kids, and one weird guy who hung out in the lobby always asking me where I was from. There was a gym downstairs where I could work out at watch what seemed like 50s and up Aikido class crammed into the corner.
After taking the tour of the school, which was given by someone from Denmark suprisingly. I couldn’t wait to further explore the city the next day. That first night I attempted to write a check for the room where I received a shock — my checks were temporary checks that could only be used in the state where the account was opened.
I paid for one night at the Y, which was $119 — I was there for one week and I had $80 left to survive. My parents were divorced and my father had paid for the ticket to San Francisco. So first I called my mother, whose strategy was to simply “explain the situation” to the YMCA and also to another bank to try and cash the check. It was generally her strategy for dealing with everything and usually worked. What she didn’t realize was that during our time abroad “explain the situation” had been overtaken by “our policy dictates”.
I called my father who said he could send me $200 via Western Union 2 days from then. He also worked everything out with the YMCA so that I could stay for the week. Who exactly covered the costs of that, I don’t know.
Even with my housing secure, I still had to feed myself for 2 days with $80 — in San Francisco. I was in the tunnel, but I decided to embrace it. I found ways to explore the city and make the most of my trip even with my lack of funds. I walked where I could, and found a cheap Mexican restaurant where for less than $10 I could get a burrito that I could eat for lunch and dinner. I saved the complimentary tortilla chips in the room’s mini fridge for breakfast.
2 days later, I got a message at the front desk from my dad — the wire had been sent. I went to the closest Western Union and received the wire of $200 after a wait of what seemed like forever. With money in my hand I felt like I was rich. I could now take the bus if and I went to see Dolores Park and Chinatown. No longer reliant on cheap burritos, I could afford a clam chowder bread bowl and Crepe Factory. No longer faced the necessity of survival I could explore the classic, eclectic and diverse city that is San Francisco. Everything was open to me and my love affair with the West Coast began.
I ended up moving back to my hometown of Chicago and studying at Columbia College. I sometimes wonder how things would have turned out if I had moved to San Francisco them instead of Los Angeles years later. Mostly I think of all the student debt I would have taken on.
The easy thing to to take away from this story is that I overcame a hardship by myself. If you just ignore the dark around you and just look at the light ahead, you too can overcome anything. But for so many people of color, they were born in a tunnel where the light at the end is a cruel joke. It’s place that’s almost always out of reach and a place that taunts you with the promise of a better life.The people who are on the other side look back at those still in the dark and proclaim “Just come over to this side, it’s simple if you just try.”
The more important lesson in this story is that I was very fortunate in this situation. I was fortunate that my parents had disposable income they had saved years earlier for me to take this trip, that my father was a white lawyer who could send me money at a moment’s notice. There are so many other people who look like me that don’t have those advantages, and if they had been in that same situation would have been homeless and stranded in a strange city. Starving and somehow having to make their way back to the airport on foot.
The true American myth is that of the Self Made Man. The man who went out into the wilderness and found his fortune. Every person is born in a tunnel and we have guides along the way to help us reach the end. We need someone to walk alongside us and hold our a hand a little while we find our way.
In the tunnel at Land’s End, I had a guide. Someone who’d been there before. So take from that, and my first time in San Francisco, a valuable lesson. A lesson that I don’t always measure up to but try to remember — see the light ahead, revel in the dark around you. Be at peace as you go through the tunnel. And make sure to show those among you the way through.
