Clouds Dancing with the Bridge

The crescent moon smiles down on me. I’m a bit tired, a bit sleep deprived. I fell asleep by 9:00 PM and I’ve been up since 2:00 AM. Am I turning into an old man? Only time will tell, but surely I’ll fight it every step of the way.

On my way home yesterday evening, I drove through the Golden Gate under a thick, dewy blanket of clouds, the temperature seemingly frigid, crossing the bridge. And just like that, on the Sausalito side of the bridge, the clouds gave way to bright, blue skies and a vibrant sun. The water was a crystal clear blue mirroring the sky above it. Boats of all kinds dotted the bay, like it did every evening. There is a feeling of peace and freedom and happiness that envelops my face every time I cross the bridge — I want to bottle this feeling, for those days when I need it most, or need to give it to those that need it more than me. Golden Gate and San Francisco always represented those feelings to me. My recurring visits to the city in the years since only cemented those initial thoughts and feelings.

One of the big life lessons I consistently revisited and reinforced during my recent visit to India was this whole notion of recognizing opportunity and seizing the moment. We would wake early in the mornings to beat the midday heat and get some kilometers behind us. Each day brought with it something new amidst the monotony of the road. Whether it was a visit to a fort or holy city, meeting strangers, eating food, being threatened, or being welcomed, each day was a new day. Some of these people here never knew if tomorrow was a certainty, so why not enjoy today?

Driving along the Golden Gate yesterday, when I saw the clouds break, I knew what I had to do today. I needed to witness the clouds dancing with the bridge from all angles. I wanted to not only take it in as I drove through it, but I wanted to take moments to just look at it, to be thankful for its beauty. The fog is an enemy to some; it’s colder in those areas of the city where it’s prevalent. However, I tend to look at it differently. The last few days, the fog has been rolling in the distance fairly consistently, opening each morning with its reach. And I can’t help but be in awe. There’s an ethereal, magical quality to it. In the mornings from my balcony, I sit there drinking my coffee, and just staring into it. It’s a painter’s dream.

And so I drove up Conzelman Road to Hawk Hill. On the way back, I stopped halfway between it and the Vista Point located at the Marin side of the Golden Gate, heading southbound on the 101. I wanted to stop at Vista Point itself, but there was no parking. I smiled knowing that there were plenty of others who wanted to appreciate the moment as I did. I drove down to Cavallo Point to see the bridge from a completely different angle.

I loved every bit of it, beaming ear-to-ear in a smile the entire time.
The Golden Gate Bridge will always hold a magical spot in my heart.

And then I went home, thankful for my detour, thankful for the clouds dancing with the bridge.

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