Yoda and the Walk of Exhaustion
I left my lungs in San Francisco
I stood in front of Yoda, and decided it was time to go back.
The fountain was interesting, a bit iconic, and in some ways the culmination of a minor dream. Coming here, wandering the Industrial Light and Magic campus, sitting with a cup of coffee in a Starbucks that was apparently mere feet from some of the most creative people in film and television—it wasn’t exactly a lifelong bucket list item, but it was pretty cool. And I’d been meaning to visit since I’d first started coming to this particular writer’s conference, in San Francisco, years earlier.
Mission accomplished. And though it wasn’t exactly the most exciting experience of my life, I valued it. I like relaxed, casual days, and this was definitely one of those.
My hotel was a few miles away, and I had decided to save the Uber fare and just walk it. The day was nice enough—maybe mildly warm in a high-70s, low 80s way—and I had plenty of time. Plus, walking the cities I visit any chance I get... It’s sort of my thing.
I pulled on my backpack and began my urban hike.
Most of the walk was fine. Pleasant, actually. I had, for a time, a nice view of the Golden Gate Bridge, and plenty of photo opportunities. Then, for a while, I was meandering through the canyons of the city, seeing the way people lived and worked and relaxed here. Getting to know the place from the street level.
It was nice. Pleasant. I took plenty of mental notes—a lot of which I would use a few years later when I wrote the sequel to Evergreen. I was enjoying San Francisco the way I figured a native would.
And then the hills rose before me.
I don’t know why I hadn’t factored these into my plans. They’re an iconic part of the city. And unavoidable. Everyone knows that San Francisco has hills. And yet... somehow I got caught off guard.
I plodded. I slogged. I leaned forward until my nose was nearly scraping the pavement.
I paused from time to time, resting in the shade, marveling at the hundreds of cars defying gravity, parked near-vertical on the hillside. And once I had my wind back, once the aching in my legs and side subsided and the sensation returned to my feet, I resumed plodding and slogging.
I have no idea how long I struggled up what must have been an Everest-level hillside, but suddenly, as I was staring down at my feet in an effort to just keep going, I crested the hill and found myself under the shade of some majestic looking trees, in a garden at the top.
To me, this place popped up out of nowhere, like Athena from the head of Zeus. A moment ago my life was nothing but sharply-slanted concrete and wheezing. And now, blissfully, mercifully, I was standing at the top of the hill in what seemed in that moment to be the most welcoming shade on Earth.
And, once again, I had a view of the Golden Gate. Another photo opportunity. I could barely lift my arms to take the selfie.
From that point, things leveled out. The walk got much easier. The city got even more exotic and eclectic, here in this world at the top of the hill. The air was fresher. The sun wasn’t as brutally hot. The sidewalk wasn’t as formidable.
Another thirty or forty minutes and I was back at the hotel, where I retired to my room, showered, and dropped into my bed for a well earned nap. I needed it. My lungs were aching and burning.
I slept for the better part of an hour, and woke up coughing. Nothing serious, but I still felt that tickle in my lungs. And with that, a sense of dread... the slight feeling of something being “off.”
Con crud.
My great nemesis.
In the decades that I’ve traveled to speak at writer conferences all over the world, Con Crud has always been a threat. I have a strong constitution, and rarely get sick. I thank my daily doses of Apple Cider Vinegar for my robust immune system. But sometimes, if my body is a bit weary—such as following a hike across the city and a climb up the equivalent of a sheer cliff face—my immune system gets overridden, and I get the crud. This felt like one of those times.
Of course, it didn’t occur to me until later, after my flight home, that there was something in the news. Something about people in China being ordered to stay in their homes. Something about a cruise ship being quarantined.
A week after I got off of the plane, I was coughing and feverish and struggling to breathe.
This was not Con Crud.
Or... well... it was. But it had gotten an upgrade. And apparently the whole world was part of the conference now.
The world went pretty sideways at that point. Lots of dramatic things happened. Maybe I’ll tell you about them some time. But as I rested and recovered and tried my best to get over the worst case of Con Crud I’d ever had, I couldn’t help thinking...
I forgot to take a photo of the Yoda statue.
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A NOTE AT THE END
Today I had to run a bunch of errands that soaked up the whole day, so I’m late getting this post written. I’m still out and about, and so I ended up doing something I haven’t done in a long minute—I stopped to work from a Starbucks.
I don’t do this much these days. I prefer indie owned coffee shops (and good coffee). But I’ll confess, it’s kind of nice to be here. There’s a different sort of clientele at these places. A bigger variety of people show up at Starbucks. It’s kind of weird.
It’s also nice to get out of my home office for a bit. Since moving here, going on three years ago now, I’ve spent most of my time in that office. It’s beautiful and awesome and has everything I could possibly need... except maybe exposure to other three-dimensional humans. And con crud, obviously.
I hadn’t realized how much I’ve been missing this kind of thing, though.
Maybe I need to make it a regular thing.
