But I’m here to tell you that there are caveats to what you’re dreaming up in your head as a cheaper, more relaxed version of San Francisco. Where BBQ perfumes the air around Barton Springs Road dog parks abound coffee shops never close and people seem unabashedly happy. One where food trucks populate any spare lots that have yet to fall prey to urban planners.
It’s a metropolis with a reputation of being a hipster haven in the middle of the country, one that seamlessly blends green grass and spring-fed pools with high-end city living and a vivacious gastronomic scene. Yes, Austin-the only suitable place in the Lone Star State for any liberal-minded person to set up shop, the town known for live music festivals and cowboy-crafted beer, the bastion for Southern creatives. A copywriting contract in a posh Financial District office and a healthy uptick in my regular magazine work represented, in my mind, the equivalent of an Oprah “aha!” moment-not much could convince me that I shouldn’t make the 28-hour journey west from my home in Austin, Texas. Imoved to San Francisco just shy of a year ago, bright-eyed and brimming with foolish optimism, like most other people who end up in this city.
