San Francisco, over the years, has become a favorite city of mine. However, I can’t say this was the case on my first impression. The first time I strolled into San Francisco was on a road trip, and I clearly remember my first thought.  This place is just a rock with concrete on it. I wasn’t much of a fan.  Actually, my genuine appreciation for the Bay Area didn’t come until I lived there for some time.  Frisco, for me, was like the girl you meet who maybe isn’t your type, and at first glance, isn’t all that much to look at either.  However, with time, you notice the extraordinary things she truly has to offer.  It’s her personality, or the way her eyes sparkle when the light’s just right, it’s the mellow attitude and calm she exudes, or the long draping hair that outlines and falls over her rolling shoulders, so many unique attributes that for some reason you didn’t notice the first few times you met.

San Francisco was that girl to me. It’s not just that the city has so much to offer, as it certainly does in copious quantities. Whether it’s North Beach and its Italian dining, or my favorite Chinatown in the US, with the occasional rooftop that must have been stolen from the Forbidden City, it does it with its singular personality and stunning views.  After some time, I realized San Francisco is like New York, just on a solid dose of Prozac, and I still mostly stand by that claim.  What San Francisco offers more than many other major metropolises in the US is the diversity of its surrounding environment.  There are multitudes of microclimates and varying ecosystems all within arm’s reach.  Locations as close as Presidio on the very edge of the city, where I lived, were surrounded by woods and cliffside trails.  Many meandered around to the Golden Gate Bridge, or down toward Baker Beach facing the Pacific, where it begins its deep stretch into the continent.

From Baker Beach, you can leave San Francisco and within 45 minutes be deep in a valley, dwarfed by redwoods, and solemnly soothed by running streams.  Then it’s only a short journey to the Pelican Inn, where you can enjoy a pint at the quaint bar that will convincingly have you believe you’re sitting in the Cotswolds.  Afterward, it’s merely a couple of cartwheels to Mount Tamalpais to rise above the clouds and sit under a shade tree, surrounded by mountains of gold, and stunning vistas of the vast and deep Pacific. Another day, pack up and head to the Napa and Sonoma appellations to stroll through the vineyards and taste some of the world’s finest wines.  This is what makes San Francisco so special: its variety and diversity in just about every measure.  There is something for everyone, from a major city to rural countryside, and endless small villages all with their unique style and flair. It was one of these small villages, nestled quietly in the hillsides of East Bay, that I first met Mad Matt and got an unexpected introduction to part of his story.

Mad Matt:  It’s funny how little I drink coffee, yet find myself in Starbucks in Lafayette, a town located just outside San Francisco, doing that very ritual.  While here, I occasionally see a man whose name is Matt.  Matt is legally blind and has epileptic seizures.  Matt also talks to himself, and the average passerby thinks Matt’s a bit crazy.  He can be seen walking down the street with his searching cane, embroiled in a conversation with Casper, or some other more friendly ghost from his childhood.  A couple of times, while engaged in these random strolls, Matt was struck by a car on two different occasions.  One broke his hip, and the other was a hit-and-run. He explained that as they drove off, he yelled, “Just be that way then”.  And they were that way then.  I’ve talked to Matt on many occasions, and after I write this, I will once again fill in for the ghost of Matt’s conversations.  When I spoke with Matt, I learned he wasn’t crazy, I also learned he had a seizure once when he heard George Bush give a speech.  In light of the current state of foreign affairs, I might be inclined to lie down and gyrate with him. Certainly, my fist would shake back and forth a little.  And don’t worry, I’ve done so with just about every party or politician that has warmed the White House seat with their sultry backside.

Regardless of this, my conversations often left me pondering what Matt feels between conversations and seizures. I tried to place myself inside the mind of Mad Matt, which I now know is anything but mad. I continually concluded that Matt possibly feels trapped inside himself and brutally alone.  Strolling through public venues and talking to himself helps assuage the feelings of isolation and pass the leopard sentence life has awarded him. With a glance of thought, I also ruminated over why many people avoid him.  Not because they think he is dangerous.  He doesn’t appear to be that dangerous at all.  But that it may be similar to the reasons why many people, I believe, astoundingly turn their backs on tragedies like Darfur and Rwanda.  I think self-conversationalists like Matt and regions like Darfur ultimately scare the shit out of people.  It reminds us how such a proclaimed dominant animal as ourselves is inevitably so completely vulnerable.  How it is that we can be so removed from control, and how humanity, and life itself, can equally be so blindly cruel.  I’m part of the masses, the sheep that such a wolf, when creeping around, makes my hair stand on end.  That’s why I need Matt, so I can listen to him rattle off to my timid soul and afterwards more broadly contemplate the words of FDR, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself”. I have learned over the years that fear is undoubtedly humanity’s cancer.  A chronic illness that debilitates the individual and left uncontrolled, or misappropriated, alters and delays humanity’s course. Unfortunately, we often only occupy ourselves with treating the symptoms. At least Matt and I both feel a bit freer after our conversations.  All the deep sadness I have for him begins to melt, and I thank God for that.  I thank him for that moment of valor that others would perceive as a relentless squander. Carrying on with his life, being as normal as normal will afford him, and making the best of the tools he’s been left with. His attitude is something I admire and have worked to emulate ever since. It is just a simple, fleeting moment between Matt and me. Passed as quickly as it came. As Kurt Vonnegut may have said, “So it goes”!