Around mid/late June, when I knew the inevitable was coming, I started saying to my friends, “I just can’t wait to get the hell out of here when this happens.”
Like running the hell away would solve anything. Would make the hurt go away.
That’s definitely not the case, but a little change of scenery never hurt anyone.
Over the past few months, basically everyone I know has moved to LA. I originally contemplated going somewhere exotic to get away, but finding someone to go with or deciding whether or not I was going to go alone got to be overwhelming, and so I decided to just go where it was sunny and I knew lots of people.
Every other lady in this photo other than me lived in NYC until fairly recently and now lives in LA…
[Mural in Los Feliz across from Go Get ‘Em Tiger, which has an epic protein “brekkie” and delicious(ly overpriced) almond macadamia lattes…]
I’ll post a real vacation recap soon with the fun stuff I did…because I did have more fun than not, but that doesn’t mean this was an easy trip.
And I knew that was probably going to happen. Knew that as soon as I slowed down, the feelings would sneak back in. That’s not to say they’re not there throughout my day-to-day life, but it’s a little easier to push them away from the surface.
But when your meditation teacher tells you to imagine the light within you and the light in heaven, it’s hard not to cry.
When you’re on the beach and see a girl your age walking a frail woman your mom’s age down to the water, it’s hard not to cry. For the times you had. For the times you won’t have. For hoping that girl knows just how lucky she is she’s with her mom at that moment, but knowing she probably doesn’t, because you never really knew how lucky you were. For thinking about how you wanted to take her to the beach just one last time this year and it didn’t happen.
When your friend asks how you are, and you know you can’t lie to her because she knows the answer because she’s been there too; it’s hard not to cry.
When you somehow find yourself telling your Lyft driver that you came to LA because you had to get away because your mom just died, it’s hard not to cry, and you cry together, and she tells you it’s ok to scream. (And you want to, but you also feel kind of weird screaming in front of someone you just met, even if you’ve been talking about how she’s been through the same.)
I do love NYC and the life I’ve built here, but I’d be lying if I said it were easy to get on that plane last night to come back. LA, we’re not done yet.