San Francisco

To drive across that copper-orange span, to pass beneath the famous towering arches, to see the sun lapping at the water at the mouth of the bay, stretching back to the horizon on an incredibly bright Saturday afternoon in January, is to realize that it doesn't matter if the world ends.

But I would prefer for it not to end.

Inauguration Day. Here's hoping the era it ushers in lives up to a quarter of the hype. At the very least, let it breed a newfound sense of engagement and hope.

Dreams for the next months: the chance to go to Baja to see the whales; run three times a week through the park as the days grow longer; see the butterflies for my birthday in Monterey and Big Sur; write every day, something close to the heart and not overly complicated.