For most of my life, I have felt torn between cities...2 cities at first, L.A. and NY, and then Paris came along. I have bounced between the 3 of them for varying lengths of time and intensity.
I have embedded myself in highly unsuccessful long-distance relationships. Was I dating the man or the city? Who was I in love with?
And through all of these incompatible longings, I have begrudgingly returned to Los Angeles, with the constant caveat that I am leaving again. (This may explain my reluctance to unpack boxes that have sat in different homes...for months....for years.)
Then a funny thing happened. I let go of the the other cities, and the men who occupied them, and began to live my life here, in Los Angeles. I unpacked boxes, and made commitments, and fell in love again. Never thought I would be able to say this....I am happy, IN L.A..
Recently, I returned home from a 3 week jaunt on the East Coast...and I flew back to L.A. and got in a cab and looked out the window at the sometimes brown and visually unappealing streets, and as I sat there in the back of the cab I didn't feel depressed to be here, I felt relieved.
Later that evening, as the day cooled down and the sky turned every shade of blue and pink and orange, I shut my eyes and let the mid-city breeze wash over me and took a deep breath and opened my eyes again and surveyed my block and the trees and the soft air felt right..... and I knew that I was finally home.