About
Update:
My last year in Los Angeles turned into my last nine months.
I'm still searching for a hometown. I'm still living like it's my last year here.
And Little Dog thrives!
***
Dear Los Angeles,
I'm leaving you. And we have a year to say goodbye.
Remember when goodbyes were bitter for me, and I often cried ridiculously, leaving people feeling
embarrassed and, let's face it, secretly thrilled to see me go away? Not anymore! And especially not this
goodbye! This one will be a jubilant handshake along with a "Nice knowin' ya, old sport!"
No, L.A., I'm not angry: I'm just (almost) done. We shared a decent sum of years. Some days we learned from
each other and other days we shat on each other. But still we drove and drove. We walked. We grew. In
Burbank. In Echo Park. In gay ole Silver Lake .
Your sun is warm without oppression. Your air is snappy. That smog I grew up hearing about? It's a myth. I've
seen only the cool Pacific fog that settles over the city, charmingly named May Gray or June Gloom.
But I'm seasoned now, and a girl needs roots and community. A girl needs to fall in love with her city every day.
A girl wants to hear whispers of encouragement in the breeze as she walks to work or walks her dog. A girl
wants to feel home even when she's not at her house. A girl wants to wear her city like her favorite jeans.
The truth is, L.A. , you've never fit like my favorite jeans. First you were stiff because you were brand new. Then
when your newness wore off, comfort never replaced it. I'd toddle, tiptoed, to the three-way mirror every day,
looking at myself from every angle, trying to figure out what was wrong:
You couldn't be dressed up or dressed down. You just ain't my hometown.
Yet I have a whole year left to enjoy you... your natural and your crafted beauty, your museums and your history,
your tri-tip and your taco stands. I have the chance to experience everything people talk about, but rarely do. I will
even live that storied and oft-planned day where I eat brunch on the beach in Malibu and then dinner at a snowy
mountain lodge at Mammoth or Big Bear, without ever getting on a plane.
And you, too California! I won't forget you! I still have a year to drive through your national parks on weekend road
trips. And to drink your wine a few feet from where it was grown. And to stroll around all your gorgeous cities
that start with San.
People leave places they have called home and start fresh somewhere new every day. In the rush to pack up
and get to where they're going, they forget to enjoy the moments, the places, and the experiences that brought
them there in the first place. I'm lucky to have this rare chance. And who knows? I might discover so much
splendor that I can't bear to leave. I might fall in love.
Until then, dear City and State, unfurl your magnificence and I'll document it here.
X
p.s. and my Little Dog, too.
Update:
My last year in Los Angeles turned into my last nine months.
I'm still searching for a hometown. I'm still living like it's my last year here.
And Little Dog thrives!
***
Dear Los Angeles,
I'm leaving you. And we have a year to say goodbye.
Remember when goodbyes were bitter for me, and I often cried ridiculously, leaving people feeling
embarrassed and, let's face it, secretly thrilled to see me go away? Not anymore! And especially not this
goodbye! This one will be a jubilant handshake along with a "Nice knowin' ya, old sport!"
No, L.A., I'm not angry: I'm just (almost) done. We shared a decent sum of years. Some days we learned from
each other and other days we shat on each other. But still we drove and drove. We walked. We grew. In
Burbank. In Echo Park. In gay ole Silver Lake .
Your sun is warm without oppression. Your air is snappy. That smog I grew up hearing about? It's a myth. I've
seen only the cool Pacific fog that settles over the city, charmingly named May Gray or June Gloom.
But I'm seasoned now, and a girl needs roots and community. A girl needs to fall in love with her city every day.
A girl wants to hear whispers of encouragement in the breeze as she walks to work or walks her dog. A girl
wants to feel home even when she's not at her house. A girl wants to wear her city like her favorite jeans.
The truth is, L.A. , you've never fit like my favorite jeans. First you were stiff because you were brand new. Then
when your newness wore off, comfort never replaced it. I'd toddle, tiptoed, to the three-way mirror every day,
looking at myself from every angle, trying to figure out what was wrong:
You couldn't be dressed up or dressed down. You just ain't my hometown.
Yet I have a whole year left to enjoy you... your natural and your crafted beauty, your museums and your history,
your tri-tip and your taco stands. I have the chance to experience everything people talk about, but rarely do. I will
even live that storied and oft-planned day where I eat brunch on the beach in Malibu and then dinner at a snowy
mountain lodge at Mammoth or Big Bear, without ever getting on a plane.
And you, too California! I won't forget you! I still have a year to drive through your national parks on weekend road
trips. And to drink your wine a few feet from where it was grown. And to stroll around all your gorgeous cities
that start with San.
People leave places they have called home and start fresh somewhere new every day. In the rush to pack up
and get to where they're going, they forget to enjoy the moments, the places, and the experiences that brought
them there in the first place. I'm lucky to have this rare chance. And who knows? I might discover so much
splendor that I can't bear to leave. I might fall in love.
Until then, dear City and State, unfurl your magnificence and I'll document it here.
X
p.s. and my Little Dog, too.
