Breaking news, ladies! Washington, the nation's capital, was named the best city for women's total well-being. But wait, there's more: San Francisco, you're No. 2, and Boston, you're No. 3. (Boston, with the eldest child ego, you can't win at everything.)

The American Human Development Index is doing something right by my lights. From my own life experience, I know.

I live in Washington, and I lived in San Francisco once — as a young married woman who worked at a Mission desk in a house on a hill. My English husband and I put up a happy front.

Glad to be back on American ground after two years in London, I noticed everything with a certain sharpness. The community garden sign told passersby not to pick the flowers "because hearts are easily broken." (Thought I'd never leave, San Francisco.)

At the hilltop, you could see the bridges cross clear over the Bay, the city's curves and swells, the soaring downtown in a rose-colored panorama. The bright Victorian house colors ("painted ladies") bespeak a feminine sensibility — and a gay male one, too.

I loved the light in the sky after London's silvery shades of rain; but more, the climate change from brittle British reserve. Emotions were easily expressed. Friends were made faster and lingered longer. I bonded with Dorothy the librarian and Louise at the post office.

Good coffee was never far away, so I was set.

Then the glass house shattered, and I left, like a runaway. No better place to part with company you kept. People congratulated you. Aunt Mary over the Golden Gate Bridge had the guest room ready. Friends found the therapist and a women's soccer team. San Francisco nurtures women's well-being because it breaks from the usual conventions.

Friends, not that I loved San Francisco less, but I love Washington more. I lived here in the '90s, the salad days of Bill Clinton's presidency, and then moved to Baltimore.

I moved back to Washington in this century, the troubled naughts, a few years ago. There was a crying need to see a sea change in the country, up close.

Yes, I needed to come back after the dogs-of-war days of George W. Bush's presidency. I had once relished covering Congress in the Capitol. As a rookie reporter, I soaked in the sun of those good times — prosperity at home and peacekeeping in Bosnia, dear to one friend's heart. This time around, I trained myself to write commentary more broadly. Still I enjoy the Senate as political theater; the House resembles the circus.

At last I've reached the point where there's nowhere I'd rather be. While I suffered the heartbreak of my life here, it's also where I've met the liveliest, funniest men. One summer I went out on several dates in a week or less.

The green-blue beauty of Rock Creek Park and the Potomac River, seen by bike, makes you feel free. The greatest historical boyfriend, Abraham Lincoln, is always available.

The apartment stock was built in a well-crafted way, with single people in mind. The Capitol and the National Cathedral are aptly apart. And so much is free — the Zoo and Smithsonian Institution museums. So you can live lightly but well, flying solo. I do.

Granted, there's one Conversation. That gives a sense of community in a city where many are passing through: in the embassies, news bureaus and White House.

The irony is Washington is as masculine — with grand avenues, marble memorials and public architecture — as San Francisco is feminine in its feel.

Either way, women, you can't go wrong. And cities don't leave.

To find out more about Jamie Stiehm, and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com.