san diego remote work? my wallet weeps, my lens cap's lost

let's be real. i flew into san diego with a duffel full of camera gear, one broken tripod, and this vague idea that i could shoot weddings in balboa park while living the 'digital nomad' dream. the second my rideshare driver pointed at a 'for lease' sign in north park and said 'that was $2800 last month, now it's a ghost,' i knew i was in for a ride. this isn't a paradise. it's a beautifully airbrushed, aggressively expensive filter over a city that's basically just... really, really spread out.

first, the data punch in the gut: median rent for a one-bedroom is hovering around $2,400. that's not a typo. my 'budget' student self from a decade ago is screaming from a parallel universe. the job market, if you're not in biotech or defense, feels like competing with 500 other photographers who also have instagram. safety? it's a neighborhood lottery. hillcrest feels like a safe, quirky street fair. drive 15 minutes east into certain pockets of city heights and the vibe shifts hard. you learn to check r/sandiego's crime watch map like it's a weather report. it's not "vibrant," it's just... different. more patrolling, less casual 'hey neighbor.'

> "buddy, my internet bill is $120 and it still buffers when i try to send a raw file. they call it the 'california premium.'" - overheard at birdrock coffee, a man in a faded hoodie, talking to his mom on speakerphone.

and the weather. everyone talks about the weather. it's not 'perfect.' it's a 70-degree, slight orange haze over the bay for nine months straight with zero rain to wash it away. then, in may, you get 'may gray' and 'june gloom'-this marine layer that makes everything look like a muted, sad instagram photo. you plan Beach days and get fog. you plan a photoshoot at sunset and get diffused, boring light. it's a lighting technician's nightmare. the neighbors? mexico is a $3 trolley ride away and feels like a different planet. tijuana's a chaotic, beautiful mess you go to for cheap medicine and street tacos that will ruin you for all other tacos. los angeles is that smoggy, traffic-clogged uncle you only visit when you have to, 2 hours north with zero traffic, 4 with any.

> "my landlord just tried to raise me $500. i told him i'd replace all the lightbulbs with smart bulbs. he thought that was a fair trade. we're all a little broken out here." - whispered in line at common theory, a coworking spot that smells like overpriced hope and cold brew.

my gear list is a mess of power bricks, a gimbal that eats batteries, and a laptop fan that sounds like a dying bee. i work from coffee shops where a single cold brew is $7.50 and the wi-fi password changes every hour. i've learned to love the libraries-central library is palace quiet, but the parking is a bloodsport. the "digital nomad" communities here are weirdly clique-ish, full of people talking about 'co-living spaces' in south park that cost more than my first apartment's entire year's rent. it's not community; it's a networking event with avocado toast.

look at this map. see all that blue? that's not just beach. that's a barrier. everything's separated by canyons, highways, and sheer distance. you can't just 'walk to the next cute neighborhood.' you drive. you sit in traffic on the 805, contemplating the meaning of life and why you thought this was a good idea. the photos you take are endless shots of cliffs, ocean, and sad palm trees. you get good at photoshop just to add a fake, happy cloud.

this photo? that's the truth. pretty, empty surface. underneath, it's a struggle. i found a taco truck in nacional city that's open 24 hours and makes me feel human again. i follow this Yelp thread for coworking spots that don't charge a kidney. i read TripAdvisor's San Diego forum and laugh at the tourists asking about 'working from the beach.' honey, the sand gets in your keyboard and the seagulls will steal your lunch.

is it a paradise? only if your paradise involves constantly checking your bank account, eating rice and beans for a week because your client paid late, and driving to a different zip code just to feel like you're not in the same four-block radius you've been in for a month. the light is good, kinda. the people are mostly chill, until they're not. the cost will break you. i'm still here because i booked a cheap flight and my pride won't let me leave until i shoot one good sunset. but every time i see a 'remote work in paradise!' blog post about this place, i want to throw my broken tripod at the screen. it's a grind. a beautiful, sun-bleached, financially terrifying grind. bring your thickest skin, a backup hard drive, and a taste for cheap mexican beer. you'll need all three.

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