This weekend I went to San Francisco on a whim. Basically, it had been a long week and I needed an adventure. I have a lot of to say on having a restless soul and other related topics, but those can be separate posts and I continue to wrestle with what the point of this blog should be. This post is meant to be about the trip itself.
What does one base the success of a trip on? This is a question I think about often. Normally, I spend days looking online at places I want to photograph, random things I want to do, watch Anthony Bourdain episodes to find out where to eat, and so on. This time I just went on priceline, found a great mystery deal, booked it, and had to run to the airport. So when I first got back, everyone kept asking how was the trip. I genuinely didn't know how to answer because I didn't know how to feel....
One side of me was excited. I mean, after so many attempts and years I finally got to see the golden gate bridge, the palace of the fine arts, and drive a rental car too fast through the streets of Bullit. On the other hand, I wasn't really sure how my pictures had turned out. It is interesting to think about what we deem worthy to define the success or failure of a trip, or anything really.
I guess, if nothing else, Anthony Bourdain would approve of my return to in-n'-out burger.