left my heart in San Francisco

One day I'll come back for it

Yesterday, I packed up my U-Haul (with the help of some very patient friends) and quietly closed the curtains on the most incredible chapter of my life.

They say you don’t always know you’re in the good times until they’re gone. But sometimes, you do. I knew. I felt it every single day. These were the good times. Not the only ones I’ll ever have, but ones that were uniquely golden, stitched into my soul in a way I’ll carry forever.

I’ll miss everything about this place and the people in it. I’ll miss sunny afternoons in Golden Gate Park and foggy mornings walking Marina Green. I’ll miss chatting with my favorite barista at the coffee place down the street and bumping into my friends on the sidewalk. I’ll miss the routine that never felt like routine, the city that met me exactly where I was.

A few people have asked how I feel about leaving. The truth is, it’s hard to explain. Partly because I don’t really know what the next chapter entails, but also because some feelings don’t come with clean definitions or simple words. Then, by accident, I stumbled upon one: saudade. A Portuguese word that captures a deep, soulful longing for something or someone that’s no longer there—like a place that no longer exists the way it once did.

That word spoke to my soul.

When I moved to San Francisco three years ago, I didn’t know what I was looking for. I just knew my heart whispered, Go, and somehow, the Universe conspired to make it happen in a way that felt fated. What I found was more than I ever could’ve imagined: the first place I’ve encountered in my life that truly felt like home.

It’s hard to describe this kind of belonging, but I felt it in my bones. The way your body exhales the second your feet touch familiar ground. The way even the messy, imperfect parts feel beautiful beyond reason. The way your identity entwines with the place, until you can no longer separate the two. It wasn’t just where I lived, it was who I was.

And in leaving, I’ve come to understand heartache. My body aches from the separation. A quiet, physical ache. Not dramatic or loud, just… present. Like a gentle hum. The past version of me might have feared this feeling, might have resisted it. But this version of me welcomes it. Because it means I’ve loved something deeply. I’ve found something meaningful. I have a home.

“The ache of leaving is the proof that it mattered.”

-Jedidiah Jenkins

Now, I find myself suspended in the in-between: floating between the magic of what was and the mystery of what’s next. I’m excited. But I’m also tender. Looking forward to what’s to come, but still trying to root myself to the soil I’m walking away from. Because it’s not just the city I’m saying goodbye to—it’s the version of myself I met here. It’s where I bloomed into someone softer, fuller, more me. It’s where the old version of me stood face-to-face with the new, and the two embraced before letting each other go peacefully.

It’s not that I can’t come back to this place, this home. But it will be different. Because I am different. I am changed. I will bloom again, but never in quite the same way.

This is saudade.
A sweet ache.
A gentle holding of time.
A gratitude for all that was.

Because I’m learning that you can’t hold on to a single joy forever, and that’s okay. Its fleeting nature doesn't make it any less real, or any less yours.

As I drove away, with the city shrinking in the rearview mirror and that quiet ache still resting in my chest, I know one thing for sure: I didn’t just leave San Francisco—I became part of it. And one day, I’ll find my heart there again.

So, what’s next, you might be wondering?

For now, I’m traveling. Writing. Following my curiosity. Not because I’m lost or searching for who I am, but because I’ve found myself. And now I want to meet the world from this place of fullness. I’m carrying love in my heart, dreams in my chest, lightness in my step, and a quiet trust in the Universe to show me the way forward.

walk boldly,

Caroline