Hi. I’m Eric.
For fifty-five years, I was a San Franciscan. Born there. Raised there. Lived my entire life in the 415.
Ocean fog. The Sunset District. Salt air. I honestly thought I’d die within earshot of the Pacific.
Turns out… life had other plans.
A couple of years ago, my wife and I made a decision. San Francisco — amazing city though it is — just wasn’t the place where we wanted to raise a family anymore.
So we packed up decades of history, and moved to New England — where she grew up, and where I’ve been learning something new every single day.
The house I grew up in had a beautiful view of the ocean. And for a long time, I believed I needed water nearby to feel okay.
But somewhere along the way, I realized something.
If I ever left the coast, I didn’t want concrete. I didn’t want traffic.
I wanted trees.
And I kind of got my wish.
We landed in Western Massachusetts, on about a third of an acre, surrounded by woods and wildlife.
Squirrels. Chipmunks who have absolutely no shame and will beg at the kitchen door. Rabbits. Foxes. Deer.
And yes… every once in a while… a bear. Or a moose.
Life here is different. In a good way.
I like to explain it to my San Francisco friends with numbers.
Western Massachusetts — which is about one-third of the entire state — has less population than San Francisco.
A city that’s basically seven miles by seven miles.
We have space here. Real space.
And here’s the thing — I can get to Vermont or Connecticut faster than it used to take me just to get out of San Francisco.
Perspective is a hell of a thing.
We live in Northampton. And in a lot of ways, it feels like a mash-up of San Francisco, Berkeley, and Oakland — artsy, progressive, musical, and just the right amount of weird.
Food-wise, I’m not missing much. The only thing I’m still chasing is Filipino food — though I think I’ve got a lead.
We don’t have Dungeness crab, but honestly? I was always more of a crab cake guy.
And guess what — we’ve got those.
Even though we’re a couple hours from the coast, the seafood here is fantastic. And it doesn’t come with that low-tide dock smell I remember from back home.
Bonus — it’s cheaper. Which means I’m eating more seafood now than I ever did in San Francisco.
Go figure.
So yeah — for a little while, you’ll probably hear me comparing life in the 415 versus the 413.
Old instincts die hard.
But what’s really happening is that I’m finding a lot to love here. And that’s where this story is headed.
Wherever you are, stay safe. Stay distant.
And every once in a while, look around.
You might be surprised what fits you better than you ever expected.
— The Wicked Dude of New England