City Of Angels — Under New Skies

I’m sitting across from one of my dearest friends, sipping on an overpriced cocktail, as the California sun is setting off to my right, sinking into the Pacific. We’re at a swanky rooftop bar, and the temperature is perfect, with the dry, desert breeze cooling down the July heat. We’re catching up on everything we’ve experienced apart from each other, on the opposite sides of the world. Now, she’s before me, black-rimmed glasses framing her eyes and her infectious laugh lifting the air, and I realize how much I’ve missed the comforting, familiar faces of my friends.

Suddenly, our heart-to-heart is cut off mid-sentence as the rooftop begins to rumble. Ice rattles in our glasses, pool water splashes from side to side. Everyone’s attention breaks from their separate conversations, eyes focus upward and silence seizes the air, except for the muted roar of an earthquake. I bounce to my feet, ready to dart down the stairway, but the vibrations begin to cease. Straightaway, a second wave of tremors strike, time slows and my heartbeat quickens, until the earth finally stills. We search for an exit, discovering the elevators had quit working completely. Down we go, cautiously descending the stairwell to the street, noticing that the road had buckled and water pipes had burst. 7.1 on the Richter scale.

Jeremy and I were in Los Angeles for a fleeting moment; palm trees, traffic, earthquakes, and old friends welcomed us with open arms. We bounced around like gypsies, from home to home, still living out of our backpacks, unpacking and repacking our minimal pile of things from a storage unit into a shipping pod.

LA comes alive during the 4th of July. Its starless sky explodes with fireworks from every direction; sparking, catching fire, and painting the skyline with drifting smoke.

There were times when we felt strange and out-of-place to be back; to go from seeing shoeless children begging on the dirty streets of Cambodia to seeing a neon-dressed woman holding a cardboard sign with her dog beside her in a stroller. Culture shock smacked us right in the face, almost as if we were driving on the 405 in a disorienting fog, not sure of where we were and yet feeling its familiarity. Déjà vu over and over again. We were here before, and yet, everything appeared a degree different. I was more overwhelmed than ever before... Everyone in their four-wheeled boxes, steering behind glass, on freeways so big I felt like I was drowning in an ocean of cars. I saw people driving around Ferraris with hardened faces, and that shows you something, after witnessing people steering worn-down tuk-tuks, radiating with unadulterated happiness.

Jeremy and I have always cherished LA; the food, the diversity, the weather, the ocean, the mountains, and the desert. It has a pulse and energy like no other and was everything I could’ve ever dreamed of during my 20s. A haven of ultimate discovery. I met my husband here. I created lifelong friendships here. My gratitude and adoration for Los Angeles is irrefutable. However, existing outside of the States this year and returning back, I now know my priorities, passions, and perspectives have shifted. That’s the thing about traveling, every atom and molecule of yours evolves and expands, bit by bit. A metamorphosis occurs, whether you knew it was coming or not.

LA is no longer my city. I know that now. I’m waving an indebted, heartfelt, bittersweet goodbye for now. It feels good to move on when you’re ready to tear away, like a swift rip of a Band-Aid off of freshly healed skin. There’s a strong sting for a millisecond, but then you’re okay. Change can sometimes sting for a millisecond, but then you’re okay, and you’re better for it.

We are piling into our Jeep, fifteen years old and still as strapping as ever, and road-tripping up the American West, to the dense, enchanting forests of Washington. On we go, traversing across the diverse US of A, whooshing past changing tree lines, unspoiled rivers, snow-capped mountains, and vast grasslands.

Bring me the open road, the smell of trees, the gas station coffee, the sunrises and sunsets, the two-lane highways, and the good-hearted American folk.