Not quite two and a half years ago, I wrote the first post of this blog – Goodbye (For Now) –  my ode to New York City and, more specifically, Brooklyn.  It was a powerful essay for me to write, as I have never felt more connected to something as I did (and still do) to Brooklyn – the place, the people that fill it up and make it what it is, the experiences I had there.  While the words flowed out easily, my heart burst as I realized how much of me was cultivated in my 17 years of living in New York City.

Naively, I had some unconscious impression that that me that had been cultivated would transplant and just be the same person, albeit here in Los Angeles.  That my evolution was complete, the cultivating final. I would be me and just move myself out to Los Angeles and give it three years and see if I wanted to stay.  Even though I had just wrote, arguably eloquently, about the process of making New York City my home, I took for granted that I would go through the same process here in Los Angeles. Not just took it for granted — simply ignored it. But ignoring life’s processes doesn’t stop anyone from going through them.

And apparently the Universe knew I really needed to learn a lesson.  Many now know the story I couldn’t share at the time, but simultaneous with the literal move to Los Angeles my marriage that should have ended five years before the move finally crumbled.  “Simultaneous” isn’t just a figure of speech or effective use of hyperbole – it is the only accurate way to describe the timing.  I arrived in Los Angeles knowing I was effectively single (which carried with it a sense of relief, but acknowledgement I was in unknown territory), with three young kids, having to be a big person with a graceful heart, not having more than one true friend here, and accessible in the city, having to show up at work every day and put my best foot forward to colleagues who were getting to know me, and be a good parent to my children.  Every day.  I was both the same girl that NYC had cultivated and someone totally different. Maybe, more accurately, the same girl but I was being tested in a way I never had been before.  The same girl but one that needed reminding that I was still evolving, still cultivating, still a work in progress.

In addition to doing the right thing, and doing what had to be done every day, I also needed more than that to immerse myself into LA.  I had a policy against saying no to any invite.  Only say yes.  If someone told me about a place I should see, I made it a point to see it — not on the long term bucket list, but immediately. I visited ice creams shops and concert halls from Pasadena to Redondo Beach, from Palm Springs to Laguna Hills, from Venice to North Hollywood, from Inglewood to Calabasas.  I ran hundreds of miles, I rode my bike for thousands, I swam.  My life was social both when the kids were with me and when they weren’t.  For not knowing many people here, my social life was more full than it had ever been.

But it felt lonely.  Lonely.  Lonely.  I didn’t feel rooted, I didn’t feel connected.  And that felt all the more highlighted, as I knew what it was like, in Brooklyn, to not feel lonely.  This place just didn’t feel like home.  The loneliness and lack of connection had nothing to do with the quality of my day to day life or happiness — here in LA, being out of an unhappy and unfulfilling marriage, I was happier. More content. More peaceful.  But happiness, relief and content doesn’t necessarily bring connection and a sense of rootedness, to people and the place you are.  And even though I had just wrote about how I had developed that connection in NYC during each step I took in NYC for 17 years, I didn’t really know how to do it here.   Nevertheless, I just kept doing the only thing I know how to do – move forward, do what I have to do, fake it, say yes, keep going.  Don’t stop.  And that is what I have done, with a more heightened awareness of making sure those steps are authentic than I did 25 years ago as I walked the streets of NYC on a $3/day food budget.

So I kept running through Echo Park on lunch time runs.  I kept swimming at Miguel Contreras High school other lunches.  I played hookie from work to go to Dodger opening day.  I went to Clippers game and cheered for the Clippers unless the Thunder were there.  I ate at Two Boots Pizza in Downtown LA and talked about my first trip to the Two Boots in the West Village.  I saw concerts at Hollywood Bowl and the Wiltern. I took my kids to Floyd’s to get their haircut and look at inappropriate rock star photos on the walls while waiting.  I spent days at school festivals, at the beach, at the zoo.  I sat in meetings at work and learned to speak languages of business I never had spoken before.  I went on dates – many, many good ones, a few horrible ones, and a few very special spectacular ones.  I opened myself up.  I gracefully found the words when someone’s interest in me was not reciprocated. I let my heart be broke, not so much by a person but by disappointed hope.  I watched the sunset from my bedroom window over the hills of the Palisades and Malibu.  I watched sunsets from the bleachers and track at Culver City High School football field – my favorite place to the see the pink and purple of dusk in Southern California.  I ate at 20 different food booths in Grand Central Market.  I celebrated my last day of working DTLA, officially, with champagne, oysters and Eggslut at Grand Central Market with my best friend.  I hiked Los Liones, over and over.  I hiked in Malibu, I hiked in Santa Monica.  I climbed Baldwin Hills Overlook on bike and on foot, again and again.  I crashed my bike on a bike path and rode in an ambulance crying with a fractured elbow but fortunately an intact brain and neck.  I spent a night at Marina Del Rey ER and Children’s Hospital ER making friends with everyone possible to speed along the process of Sasha getting her arm casted after falling off the bunk bed.  I’ve tried unsuccessfully, three times, to move from my apartment to a house. I negotiated the end of my marriage at outdoor tables at Starbucks.  I’ve become addicted to juice from Whole Foods, and massages from Marina Massage.  I discovered gel manicures.  I slept on a friend’s sofa after a car crash when my house wasn’t peaceful enough for recovery.  I’ve become a regular at Hip Hop Fit in Culver City.  I’ve had drinks with new friends, heard their stories, shared laughs. I’ve been the oldest in a  group and the youngest.  I’ve hid in my car so no one would see me cry.  I’ve cried in front of everyone.  I’ve sabotaged nights out with friends with very bad (but fun) decisions.  I’ve watched my daughters perform their Broadway theatre musical in front of an audience without one tear — in fact, with them stealing the microphone from their friends.  I’ve held butterflies who landed on my fingertips.  I’ve watched more kids perform more rock songs in more historic venues than I ever imagined I would.  I’ve taken my kids to my friend’s new house for New Year’s Eve and they stayed up until 1:30am, Kai reading from his new joke book to a captivated audience.  I’ve gone to high school football games, college soccer games, and playoff hockey games. I’ve gone to sleep at 8:45pm and I’ve gone to sleep at 4:45am.  I’ve held Deucey while he was put to sleep, peacefully, with only my heart in pain.  I’ve said no every one of the 2,000,000 times my children have asked for a new dog, cat, or baby brother/sister.  I’ve listened to Justin Timberlake sing about writing another song 100 times on my vinyl record player, making my imagine who would ask me for a second chance and write me another song.  I’ve drank cheap bottled sangria and expensive, 90 point wine — in my living room, at parks, at dinner with friends.  I’ve listened to the Love Jones soundtrack while eating at the exclusive Trois Mec.  I’ve already had some day dreams about working for the Los Angeles Rams once they are here. I’ve had brunch and lunch and dinner and breakfast and coffee and quick hellos with friends — good friends, close friends, true friends.  I’ve traveled to New York City to rejuvenate my soul and energize my footsteps, and I’ve put my key through my door on my return and seen, each time I come through, the sign that reminds me that what I love most about my home is who I share it with.

The other day, I was doing repeat runs up Baldwin Hills Overlook in Culver City.  I was 3/4 of the way up the hill, on my way down the hill, and noticed that I could see the LMU at Loyola Marymount to the southwest; the Sony Rainbow right in front of me; the buildings in Century City, among which I discovered Jamestown Revival during a beautiful outdoor concert; the Hollywood sign to the north east; Staples Center and Downtown Los Angeles.  These spots, all of which have had moments of my life lived the past 2 1/2 years, barely looked spread apart. I could imagine taking a subway from LMU to DTLA that took no longer than a ride from Brooklyn Museum to Rockefeller Center, if LA only had the infrastructure.  I saw all these moments accessible to me – not that far away from me, not that far away from the me that LA is cultivating.  The sun was shining, people were going up and down, working their legs, laughing and talking. I thought of the food I would have when my work out was done; the drinks and dinner I would have with friends later that night; whether I could bring my kids to play on the hill if I came to workout with them in tow the following weekend.  I saw the marine layer breaking to the west. I felt myself smile.  I realized that Los Angeles did not not feel like home.