Ten Years Ago

Someone hit me up with an interesting meme the other day. Where were you ten years ago?

July 2000. I was living at 418 Pierce St (between Fell and Oak) in San Francisco, what I now affectionately refer to as The Crack Den. I had a small room in a 5-bedroom house that was dark and gross. My four roommates all had substance or emotional issues or combinations of both. I was a poor flight attendant, waiting tables on the side, and just struggling to make it work. I had broken up with Tim and moved back home to California from an apartment near O’Hare in Chicago. But emotionally I was still on the hook, we were talking, I was moping. It was an ugly time. Not only was the culture of the Haight and my home something I was not used to, but I was in a bad place. I was happy to be home in San Francisco, but I was lacking direction and nothing made any sense.

Workwise, I was finally able to begin holding international reserve that summer. United was going through an ugly dispute with their pilots in the summer of 2000 and nothing was running on time; planes were delayed all over the world; United staff were handing out hundreds of cots in a night in Chicago, Denver, and Dulles. Luckily I was spared a lot of the horror on the international side. I was flying to Asia mostly; Beijing, Osaka, Taipei, Seoul. I walked on the Great Wall of China for the first time, albeit with a lazy and contentious crew. Asia in the summer is hot, polluted, and miserable. Even though United was having a lot of problems, my being able to hold international was a good sign that I was gaining some seniority. Sadly my life was forever changed a year later, along with all of our lives, by 9/11.

Looking back, it was not the best of times, but it was not the worst of times either. I was coming to terms with the failure of my first significant relationship, but the progression of my career and my being home in San Francisco were both good points in my life. I was still struggling a bit to define myself and who I was (beyond identifying with my work), but the roots were there. Let’s face it; the twenties are an exciting time, but they also suck. One has such grandiose dreams and fantasies about life, but no clear map to guide you. I do not miss the stupid mistakes, the crack den living, layovers in Indianapolis or Tulsa, the visits to the payday lender, wearing glasses, or the constant insecurities about everything. I do miss being able to eat anything I want (within reason) and Madonna being cool. But beyond those small things, I am happier at 36 than I was at 26.

Hope you are all having a good weekend. Cuidate.