I enjoyed seasons when I lived in New York. Fall and Spring are absolutely gorgeous, and winter is beautiful and cozy. I even enjoyed the snow–probably because I never had to shovel a driveway or sidewalk. The one season I never understood was summer, but I was always placated by the fact that it would only last a few months.
For some people, the San Francisco summers are rough. We do have the lowest average summertime temperature of any contiguous American city. For many, summer is supposed to be about wearing shorts and balmy evenings. In San Francisco, summer is about wearing layers and hoping for some afternoon sunshine.
I was born and raised in San Francisco. So for me, moving back to San Francisco in the summer was smart–because immediately there are no regrets. We’ve had one day when the temperature rose above 85 degrees, and by the evening it had dropped to the typical high 50′s-low 60′s. And of course, there was no sticky wet-warm-sponge-like humidity to contend with. This evening I was a little warm–so I opened a window and was immediately greeted by a cool, refreshing breeze. This led me to go to weather.com to see what my NY brethren were dealing with. I have compassion. I have empathy. But I am happy to be here.