I'm Leaving L.A.
My time in L.A. has been a weird ride.
The first weekend I spent here, I went to bottomless brunch at 11:00am and proceeded to black out no more than 1 hour later. I have a strange floaty memory of walking through The Grove where I had the audacity to drink yet another beverage — a good ole IPA (yes, I used to be a snobby beer gal). My friend texted my mom to tell her I was okay while my head hung out in a toilet. Similar activities ensued for the following few months before I graduated from college with 2 whole degrees! The beginning of adulthood.
Oh, how times have changed. The girl who arrived in LA would not even be friends with the woman who is about to leave. That’s the beauty of space and time. It transforms us whether we wish it to or not. Growth can be inevitable.
There did come a time that I did wish to change and I knew it was time to adjust my sails. Friendships wilted away, paths were redefined, time was spent alone. But before I got there, much of a journey needed to unfold…
My first job here was at a corporate media agency working on theatrical campaigns. It sounded cool at first — until it turned out to be a lot of excel sheets and pretending to have fun during coffee chats with the woke puppets of Los Angeles. Opinions are made known and t-shirts are worn to affirm where your head is at. It’s a strange, strange conglomeration of wildly underinformed people with the loudest possible opinions. I suppose if there’s one thing I picked up in my time here, it was a voice that could keep up with the others.
To survive this section of time and space, I had to find the people and moments that allowed me to keep my eyes ahead. A mentor who saw in me the need for more and shepherded me alongside her, my boyfriend who held me and pushed me along in times of doubt, and the disguised gift of a pandemic that shut the world down so that we could all reassess. Forced rehab for the collective.
Nonetheless, corporate life aligned with the rapidly maddening world. Strange company-wide calls exposed me to the real-life impact of woke culture and outrage beyond comprehension. How rightful anger can turn into reactive solutions that do not consider the full picture (or heaven forbid.. the other sides perspective!!). It was the perfect place for me to observe humans in the most fragile state. What happens when a company feels obligated to take a stance but forgets to involve nuance? What happens when the election rolls around and suddenly morning meeting meant covert (and not so covert) pledges of allegiance to the only acceptable side.
It’s quite a confusing mess, I’ll tell you that.
Confirmity becomes the norm and living in the grey is problematic. Comments that suggest you think differently are met with eye positions that feel judgemental and suddenly you consider just playing along to get through the day. How many times will you play along until you’ve lost the game entirely?
Don’t misunderstand this experience — it was very much perfect. How was I to learn the depths of culture and meaning without sitting in on the exact paradox that dissenters have been speaking of all along? What better way to understand the two sides of the coin than to spend time in the thick of it? How else can one learn to live so audaciously than to be surrounded by the audacity that is Los Angeles?
Our experiences, no matter how deeply disturbing or effortlessly enjoyable, teach us what we need to know.
Of course, a year later it did become too much of the same puppet show for me to willingly sit and watch in silence. The darkness begins to catch up with you and places a stain on your soul. If you don’t take your clothes off, run wild in the woods, and whisper goodbye you’ll end up a fragmented being with a lot of clearing to do before you find the path back.
At some point, I couldn’t take that stringent life anymore — the hours between 9am to 6pm where I’m chained to a desk and crunching numbers for a client that wouldn’t bat an eye if I suddenly dropped off the earth. Writing emails that must be proofread with a fine-tooth comb and oh, dear! one must not make the mistake of non-uniform formatting! And don’t forget to list the email recipients in order of highest up to lowest paid or else you’ll offend their pretty little head and someone will go to bed angry. How tragic.
In October of 2020, my grandmother passed away and so I began to reflect. I bought a book of poetry. I lit a few candles and sat on the floor. I even saw a crow and knew it must be Grandma Betsey. I took a left turn and went down the stairs into the never-ending journey toward home. I looked in the mirror and asked “who are you?” I wrote in my journal and pondered “what will you do?” I cried in the shower and thought “does anyone even have a clue?”
3 months later I discovered a little something called manifestation, the practice that suggests you can create your own reality, vision your dreams into existence, and wake up feeling more alive than the day before. Sounds too good to be true, right? Only you can answer that.
During my existence in LA, there came a moment that something had to change. A life where every other week met an existential crisis and confusion overwhelmed my ability to stick to a plan — it could not go on any longer. How many times can your aspirations be questioned until you stop finding an answer? At what point does your fear of the unknown get to extinguish the spark in your chest? Where is the point of no return? I am glad I never found out. Instead, I opted to input new coordinates for my GPS. Take me home!
And home I went. The journey starts with you sitting in your bed on a Saturday around noontime with 14 things on your mind, hot tea on your bedside, and the sudden realization that life is all your fault. 98% of your problems are your own doing. The realization comes in admitting that this is a good thing.
Now you are in charge.
You’re the one pulling the strings and it’s time to write a new scene.
At this point in time, it’d been a year into my miserable job and my craving for something new was finally strong enough to go out looking for it. Like a trick of magic or maybe just some hard work I got the hell out of that soul-sucking corporate black hole and said “no more!” Onto another much smaller company I went — one with a promising goal and a glimmer of hope that things could be different.
My first manifestation became a reality! Relief from zombie land of excel sheets and overly-labored emails and into a more creative endeavor. It created the space for me to connect back to my dream. Time to continue on the path home where all the answers hide in plain sight.
During this endeavor, the world continued to make less sense every day. California thinks it’s cool to yell at people and shame them for not agreeing to the non-sense. People with large egos run the show and get to party while the businesses they tell to shut down suffer to the point of permanent closure. And most hilarious of all from the woke mob came a time where suddenly billion-dollar companies with absolutely no care in the world for the individual are painted as the undeniable benefactors of our time. Compliance without question! Following the rules without hesitation! Leaders imposing their will upon others is suddenly deemed heroic and an expression of empathy.
Fear of doing the right thing outweighs the chances that you’ll actually do the right thing. Unwavering adherence to the mob earns you your place and a pat on the back. Good job! You’re following what they say and doing as you’re told — how inspiring. I love walking among those who bend to the whims of power-hungry, corruption-ridden organizations and rebrand it as “just trying to do the right thing”. It makes for exhilarating dinner conversations, too.
Perhaps it sounds bleak to you. Like a negative view of people just doing their best. And yes, it is true — most people are just doing their best. And it’s okay, I suppose.
But maybe for me, it’s not. I do not wish to simmer in a flip-flopping of panic parading as superior morality and making the world a better, safer place. Spare me the theatrics and don’t even bother nominating me for an award.
I’ll take my certainty, praise, and acceptance the way I take my coffee — I don’t fucking want any, I hate the taste, and it makes me shit my pants.
I’m not sure that I even blame the people of the city sometimes. Perhaps it’s the Hollywood apparatus that took a grip of the city and never let go. It told women to be skinner, prettier, and even please a man or two so that they have a chance of making it to the top. It cries at the slightest offense before turning around to lash at the misuse of words by the most well-known actress. It frightens dreamers into bland do-gooders and pretends that Disney is saving the world with its diversity and inclusion efforts that don’t seem to apply to the Uyghurs in China.
How dark, I know. “And this is how you feel about your time in LA?!” Yes, parts of it. These are the things I’ve learned from the blind eyes and wholesome hearts around me in the past few years. It’s not all like this, of course. Beautiful souls of all kinds reside in the city of angels (my sister thinks maybe they call it that because no one can live here for long). Many people see right through the facade and care deeply about the mess of the world — I’d venture to say most people see right through it, but perhaps the smaller portion is much louder and owns all the megaphones.
Good people reside in all corners of the darkness. They hope for the best, read the opposing viewpoints, and will even verbally agree with you when you say “it’s all a lie!!” Good people want things to turn out okay, they have faith in humanity but perhaps they won’t go to the trenches with you. They’ll hear you out and give you a hug, but not everyone wants to lay it all on the line. Accepting that you’ve been partaking in darkness is no easy feat, so, I get it.
In learning about the way of Zen, it’s become clear to me that some good people are too concerned with hoarding their visible gains — the nice clothes, the praise, the salary, the title, the acceptance into society. It feels pretty damn good, doesn’t it? Swap a portion of your soul for a constant supply of dopamine induced by smiling facing and clapping hands and you’ll live a very comfortable life. It’s laid out, easy to follow, and most people are doing it, so there’s probably something to it… right?
Don’t ask me — I tried it out and it tasted horrible. Maybe I got the recipe wrong. Too much salt and not enough protein? I’m going to try a different salad arrangement for now.
The year 2021 brought about an even more bizarre paradox — my wonderful city sparkling with woke mobsters who stand for love and inclusivity decided to #love their way into mandate after mandate until the mandates began to exclude certain individuals from participating. I’d never seen so many diversity and inclusion warriors jump at the chance to casually discriminate on the basis of a faux story told by their best friends, the media. “We’re just doing our best!!! We’re just following the rules!!”
I choose to not even be angry at them because who am I to force my ways upon them? Is that not the same tactic? If I am to evangelize others, I’ve just done the same thing that I previously rejected. Believing that my stance must be the right one is a tricky thought pattern to entertain. We all want to believe we’re good and mighty so therefore our idea of right and wrong should be the final say. We’re sorely mistaken.
I’ve done it, too. I’ve sent emails hoping to change minds and expressed my side of the story in hopes that they’d see what I mean and choose to shift. But that’s not always how it works. It’s easy to become what you criticize.
“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.” ― Friedrich W. Nietzsche
Maybe that’s why I am leaving — before the city sinks its claws in so deep that I become my own worst enemy. Before the abyss touches my heart. Before one more person tries to convince me that imposing their fearful will on others is the right thing to do. Before I end up partaking in the darkness because I just want to go see a damn movie. Before I forget who I am and what I came here for because I can’t even eat a burrito or go to the office without proving mySelf to you — oh but it’s for your safety!!
No, thanks!
I’ll pack my bags and head the other way. I’d like to take a few pictures and then leave. I’ll be seeing myself out. I hear the beaches in south Texas are quite nice.
I heard there are people out there who don’t have the audacity to tell me what to do. I heard there’s a space-time complex for me that doesn’t require me to shrink or pretend or clap for such silliness.
I’m leaving LA for a lot of reasons. Honestly, a smaller portion of them are the ones that have to do with the drama show I’ve displayed above — but still, these are reasons nonetheless. It’s also time to go because I’ve got big plans! I’m building a house with my handsome man and I’m going to have goats and dance in my backyard. I’m going to travel often and live by my own compass. I’m going to hang out with people who are heart-led and curious and fun and who give great hugs. I’ve set my sails for an unknown adventure that will nourish my need for expansion.
I’m going to dance under the moonlight and face my fears and finally get over the idea that I’m not worthy of my preposterous dreams! Their my preposterous dreams for a reason.
I’m leaving LA because this city has felt like a weighted blanket. 30 million souls all squished together wasn’t going to feel good no matter how hard I tried. This year I became a soul-led woman and she needs her space.
I’m leaving LA because of the symbolic change it brings for me — the dropping of the weighted blanket that kept me comfortable for a while. The shedding of layers built up over time. Letting go of the 22-year-old girl who wanted so badly to be accepted and validated that she absorbed the bad behaviors of her friends and misled peers around her.
I’m leaving LA because it’s hard to fly when there’s so much smog. I can’t take a deep breath if the air’s got ash in it! And I can’t drive with my windows down and hair loose when I’m stuck in traffic next to some angry executive who’s late to their very important meeting.
It should be known that my time in LA also included the most profound shift in self I have ever experienced. I spent much of this year alone. In my apartment, at the beach, eating lunch and dinner at my favorite cafe. I grew beyond belief and I can hear it in my own voice. The immensely beautiful shift that took place in my own bag of bones has brought me to tears. I am on my way home and it’s been the greatest journey I have ever embarked on. That is why it’s never really about the city. It’s never about the people or the non-sense or the rules they try to place on you. It’s about you.
In the end, it doesn’t matter where I am going or which place I am leaving, the town I live in, or how big my yard is. None of it matters. It’s all an illusion. I set course to go home a while ago and this journey has only begun.
Here, at this point in time, we are simply turning a page.
And that page says — fly free, it’s time to expand.