Today someone shared a photo on twitter of the Golden Gate bridge before it was built. Just the bases on each side of Marin and SF were there, and an open exposed bay in the middle. It’s funny how much a bridge can grow to mean to us. When I first went to San Francisco I was 13. My dad had taken me for my birthday as a special father daughter trip. We did every possible tourist thing we could jam into three days including taking a ferry around the bay and underneath the Golden Gate. There was something radiant and magical about it. This place looked and felt nothing like LA where I grew up. I felt the cold wind on my face, craned my neck to look up at that burnt orange-red paint and thought one day I am going to live here.