Around mid/late June, when I knew the inevitable was coming, I started saying to my friends, â€œI just canâ€™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.
Thatâ€™s definitelyÂ 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 â€˜Em Tiger, which has an epic protein â€œbrekkieâ€ and delicious(ly overpriced) almond macadamia lattesâ€¦]
Iâ€™ll post a real vacation recap soon with the fun stuff I didâ€¦because I didÂ have more fun than not, but that doesnâ€™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. Thatâ€™s not to say theyâ€™re not there throughout my day-to-day life, but itâ€™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, itâ€™s hard not to cry.
When youâ€™re on the beach and see a girl your age walking a frail woman your momâ€™s age down to the water, itâ€™s hard not to cry. For the times you had. For the times you wonâ€™tÂ have. For hoping that girl knows just how lucky she is sheâ€™s with her mom at that moment, but knowing she probably doesnâ€™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 didnâ€™t happen.
When your friend asks how you are, and you know you canâ€™t lie to her because she knows the answer because sheâ€™s been there too; itâ€™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, itâ€™s hard not to cry, and you cry together, and she tells you itâ€™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 youâ€™ve been talking about how sheâ€™s been through the same.)
I do love NYC and the life Iâ€™ve built here, but Iâ€™d be lying if I said it were easy to get on that plane last night to come back. LA, weâ€™re not done yet.