Home. Belmont. Locked in.

Almost ten years ago we were on a hardcore home search. Living in the Castro and jumping over used needles on Church & Market Streets where we lived, we decided to venture to the ‘burbs because I was ‘with-child.’ We figured driving around in search of parking and dealing with the meters in front of our flat with a stroller and groceries would not be ideal.

We looked at houses from the city to San Carlos, bid on many and almost landed in Burlingame. Luckily, in hindsight, the house there had a foundation that was sinking and on crack, well on it’s way to China. So we opted out and bid in Belmont, a lot. No connections, knew no one but liked the freeway access and the views were pretty darn nice. In one week we bid on two houses and when we actually got one, we couldn’t remember what it looked like, the floor plan or how to get back to it. But we had a house, had paid too much and wanted to vomit thinking about our financial stress.

In retrospect, it was well worth the tummy aches and sadness of leaving life in the city (though I still miss it everyday). We love Belmont. Love the diversity (though I wish there were more diverse sexual orientations and more balanced racial miscellanies). I love that parents can actually have a voice in our kid’s public education (not as it tends to be in other cities around where big-wigs from major corps speak for the whole). I love our mailman, our UPS driver and our Recology guys (even though they seem less than enthralled with the new organization). Love that it feels like a bunch of little cabins (some very large cabins) ready to gather for smores on warm nights. And I love that when I tell, or hear, about someone in Belmont who might need a helping hand, a warm meal or a bear hug to share ones tears, that people line up in spades without question.

If we can continue to cultivate such infectious kindness here in Belmont (given that Prop. 13 is killing many of us financially), the ROI will continue to be well worth the price.