Introduction
I just got back from a work-cation trip to San Francisco.
That word, “work-cation,” carries certain expectations. You’re probably picturing a laptop balancing on a table in a trendy cafe or heightened productivity from a poolside lounger.
My work-cation wasn’t that romantic.
In reality, I worked a little and walked a lot. I stared out the window. I went back to my hotel room earlier than I “should have.”
From the outside looking in, you might think this trip was a waste of time and money. After all, I flew across the country to do… not much.
But San Francisco gave me exactly what I needed: Rest.
When you travel as much as I do, there’s a persistent pressure to maximize every destination. I feel the need to see everything a city has to offer because, well, I’m a travel blogger. I’m supposed to come back to you with stories, with beautiful photos, with proof that a city is worth visiting.
But San Francisco was not that kind of trip.
I could have done more with my time in the Bay Area. I could have packed my after-work hours with iconic experiences that I can’t do at home. I could have turned the trip into content or output or momentum.
Instead, I let it be quiet. I let it be boring. I let it be gentle.
And that was exactly what I needed.
Call Me Frank Cuz I’m Getting Candid
In the depths of winter, my days flatten out. My motivation doesn’t disappear, it just becomes harder to carry.
I’ve struggled with seasonal depression since I was a teenager. For me, it doesn’t always present as tears and sadness. Sometimes my depression is quiet. It shows up as a dull ache, as indecision, as irritability about how everything is taking more effort than I know it should.
Over the past decade, I’ve learned to accept that this is just how I feel in the colder months. I no longer feel ashamed or angry at myself for it. I do, however, need to coexist with my seasonal depression because I have responsibilities and relationships to maintain.
During this time of year, all I want to do is stay home. But staying home carries its own noise in the form of persistent house chores, soul-crushing sameness, and the subtle pressure to be doing more with my increased free time.
Sometimes the only way I can actually shake my depression is to leave my dreary, everyday life for a few days.
My San Francisco trip was not exciting or impressive, but it did interrupt the sameness that keeps me feeling down in the depths of winter. This trip, however boring, reminded my brain that the world is larger than the depressing loop it’s been stuck in.
San Francisco was less of a destination and more of a soft place to land. I wasn’t chasing landmarks. I didn’t build an itinerary. My only goal was to exist. I did very little, and I didn’t rush while doing it.
The Pier 43 Ferry Arch lit up at sunset.
I nestled into quiet corners of crowded coffeeshops, typing away on my laptop for hours on end. I drank warm cups of chai and wandered through the oldest Chinatown in the United States. I filled my evenings with long, slow walks along the coast, where I caught a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge. I soaked in pockets of sunshine and breathed in the ocean air.
This trip was a reminder, however subtle, that I won’t be trapped in this funk of seasonal depression forever.
I didn’t need San Francisco to entertain me or inspire me or prove itself worthy of the cross-country flight. The city just held me.
Within its labyrinth of alleyways, I found the space to breathe.
Highly recommend dim sum at Great Eastern Restaurant on Jackson Street.
There’s a strange guilt that can come with trips like this. A voice that says: I should have done more. But that voice assumes that value only comes from action.
Rest shouldn’t have to justify its value.
My San Francisco trip was a huge success because I now feel steady, calm, and more like my not-depressed self.
The city didn’t energize me in a dramatic, fireworks kindof way. The light just hit my face from a different angle, and now I feel anew.