Two Cities, One Question: Is This Power?

I always sit down to write these thinking this will be the week it’s shorter.

Just a quick bite. A little Friday morning snack.

And then the world keeps happening.

This week, work brought me to San Francisco. Which, if you have been living through the same gray New York winter I have, feels like someone cracked open a window and let oxygen back into the room.

Sunlight. Green trees. A temperature that does not require emotional resilience just to walk outside. A reset.

And if you have been online at all over the past week, you may have seen the headline floating around about the so-called “gay mafia” running Silicon Valley.

The headline photo is objectively hilarious. A perfectly tanned muscle god with the Salesforce Tower rising heroically in the background like a tech bro Mount Olympus.

Naturally, as a gay man flying into San Francisco for work, I felt like I was arriving at headquarters. Like I might get handed my membership card while I wait for my Waymo.

But San Francisco refuses to be just one story.

Within about fifteen minutes of leaving the airport, the narrative gets a lot more complicated.

If you have ever spent time in San Francisco, it is impossible not to notice the juxtaposition.

Extreme wealth. Extreme struggle. And very little space in between.

As a New Yorker, I am not unfamiliar with homelessness. It is a reality of living in a big city. But San Francisco hits differently.

The density. The tents. The open drug use. People shouting into the air like they are arguing with ghosts. It is heartbreaking.

At moments it was also frightening, if I am being honest.

And yet I kept finding myself doing something I do not always do when I am rushing through my normal life back home. I kept wondering about the story.

How did they get here?

What series of events turned someone into a person who now carries their entire life in a backpack and calls a patch of sidewalk home for the night?

Yes, I know some people argue that some individuals choose this lifestyle. But I have to believe that if most people had the option between stability and the street, they would choose stability.

It stopped me.

Because the truth is that the past year of my life has been challenging in its own ways. Career transitions. Parenting a toddler. Trying to build something new while the world feels like it is constantly vibrating with uncertainty.

But none of that compares to having nowhere to go.

Perspective has a funny way of arriving when you are not expecting it.

Sometimes it looks like sunshine in February.

Sometimes it looks like a tent pitched next to a luxury condo development.

And sometimes it shows up at a dinner table.

On my last night in town, my boss invited me over to his house for dinner with his family.

Nothing fancy.

Pizza. Salad. Light jazz playing in the background. Dim lighting. A few candles flickering on the table.

The kind of dinner that feels simple in a way that almost feels luxurious.

What I ended up observing was something I did not realize I needed to see.

Two parents sitting at the table with their two sons. Ten and thirteen years old. Curious. Polite. Comfortable speaking with adults.

But what stood out was the dynamic.

The parents spoke to their kids with genuine respect. The kids spoke back with confidence and curiosity. There were hugs. Small touches on the shoulder. Encouragement to participate in the conversation with me, a new adult in their orbit.

It was calm. Warm. Mutually respectful. And it reminded me of something that does not get talked about enough when it comes to parenting.

So much of it is learned through observation. We watch other families. We notice what feels good. We quietly file it away and think, I want a little bit of that in my house.

Parenting is less like following a manual and more like building a mosaic. You collect pieces from the people who show you something that works.

And that night, sitting at their kitchen table, I collected a few pieces.

The other thing I noticed this week was just how tired I feel.

Not physically tired. Emotionally tired. The kind of fatigue that comes from trying to stay informed in a world where the news cycle feels like it is spinning on maximum speed.

Wars escalating. Political chaos. Endless commentary about what is broken and who is to blame.

Part of me wants to put my head in the sand.

Honestly, I really do.

But I also know that being an adult in the world means paying attention.

This week I found myself watching clips of Hillary Clinton’s testimony in front of Congress again. A moment that still carries an uncomfortable truth.

Women get dragged through the mud in ways men simply do not.

Over and over again.

And then in the same week, I saw reports of an all girls school bombed in Iran.

Girls who just wanted an education. Girls whose existence was apparently threatening enough to warrant violence. 

I could not stop thinking about it. Not as a political moment. As a parenting moment.

Because suddenly all I could think about was my daughter.

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Before Luna was born, conversations about gender equality were mostly intellectual for me.

Important. But abstract. Now it is personal.

Now when I read about women being undermined, silenced, attacked, or dismissed, I do not think about a social issue. I think about a little girl who is currently learning how to put her own shoes on.

And one day she will step into a world that will try to tell her who she is allowed to be.

Which is why I keep coming back to this idea of power. Not the Silicon Valley version. Not the billionaire version. Not the version that gets written about in headlines. The kind of power I want for my daughter is simpler.

Confidence. Curiosity. Courage.

The ability to question systems that are broken and build something better.

The ability to stand beside people who need allies.

Women have been allies to so many communities for so long. Including ours, the gay community that some now jokingly call a “mafia” in San Francisco. A city where not long ago we were fighting simply to survive.

It feels important that the next generation understands that solidarity runs both directions.

Because if there is one thing this week reminded me of, it is that power shows up in a lot of different forms.

Sometimes it is a skyline.

Sometimes it is a tent.

Sometimes it is a quiet dinner table where two parents are showing their children how to move through the world with kindness.

And sometimes it is a little girl holding a torch that the world desperately needs her to carry forward.

Our job as parents is to make sure she knows how bright she is allowed to let it burn.

The weekly section where I will call out a fraction: something that felt like progress this week (like a fraction forward) and a fiction: something that turned out to be a distraction or illusion. 

🎯 Fraction: Rooting for People Who Win

Connor Story hosting SNL. Hudson’s cameo. The Heated Rivalry universe continuing to expand in real life. Will I ever get sick of it? Unlikely. Watching people succeed at something they clearly love is one of the purest forms of joy there is. In a week that made me think a lot about power and who gets it, I’m reminded how good it feels to simply root for other people.

🎭 Fiction: School Shouldn’t Feel Like a Lottery

The competition to get into school is something I genuinely do not remember from growing up. The street you lived on determined where you went. Period. Now we submit five preschool options within a few blocks of our apartment and still are not guaranteed a seat. As parents across New York now wait until May to find out where their kids will land, it is hard not to wonder when something as basic as school started feeling like a lottery.

I’m learning more and more that perspective rarely shows up when we’re looking for it. Usually it arrives through a moment, a conversation, or a story we almost missed. If this week’s reflection sparked a thought for you, share it with three friends who might appreciate the pause.

Is this it???... - Chris