In our white Ford Focus from Arizona we sliced the majastic fog that holds the glorious san francisco bay captive like a brother suffocating his sister with a pillow. Like most of the best things in life, crossing the Golden Gate Bridge is over before you know it. A hidden country road. tree lined, with two lanes of traffic brings you the golorious entry of that red wolly mamouth who beckons you to cross the bay on his suspension back.

Lately I’ve been experiencing an onslaught of significant “lifetime experience” moments. Relocating to California, moving beyond a 40 minute drive from the house I grew up in. Fulfilling a life long goal of pursing art as a carreer. Living with strangers in a house of six. And now crossing a bridge that’s garnered more respect as a historical landmark, than any other man made structure in California. The Golden Gate is so well known and synonymous with the city that I wonder what reputation San Francisco had before it was build. Was it just known for having lots of hills? Or maybe fellow pioneers knew it as the gold rush capitol? Where was all this gold that attracted people out so far from their homes? How is gold even discovered and how could the word have travelled so fast to speculators in the east without the internet? Did California gold pay for the bridge?

These were the thoughts rushing through my bloodstream as we crossed that marvel of modern engineering instead appreciating the moment right in front of me. But that got me to thinking of how one actually goes about “appreciating a moment” per se. Are these moments continually passing before out eyes just for our brain to catalog and file for recollection later on? Is it actually possible to enjoy something or at least appreciate it for what it is as it’s happening? Is it as

country is so young

the curvature of the earth