A Sort-of Love Letter to the City of Angels

Project 365, Day 116/365

Three years ago, A LOT of new things happened in a few days. Charles and I got married at the courthouse in South Florida. We moved to Los Angeles. I started a new job. It was a busy seven days, let me tell ya. Today is the three-year anniversary of hopping aboard that JetBlue flight to California with a suitcase in each of our hands and a hope and prayer in our hearts and head that we had made the right decision. Spoiler alert: we did. Our affection for Los Angeles was not immediate. In fact, the first six months, maybe even year, was hard. Like, hard, hard for so many reasons, many of which you could guess (growing pains, homesickness). We talked almost daily about when we’d go back home, talking each other off the ledge every time we wanted to throw in the towel.

I’ve crafting a love letter to this city in my head, something I work on everything we drive along Mulholland, taking in the city lights from high up in the hills. And while today seems like a fitting day to actually pen that, I’m not quite yet ready.

So instead, I want to share the first draft of a post I wrote for a website called SemiStories a year ago, about our move out here. I’ve shared a link to the finished article here before, but that one had the touch of a very talented editor friend (Kelly Dawson), and this one is all me. Real, raw, uncut, and mostly unedited. Reading it now, three years in, it all still rings true. That span of six weeks or so is branded into my brain folds. It was like I was watching a movie of my life unfold, and I get to rewatch it over and over in my mind as a bystander, instead of the person living the pain and rush and excitement and apprehension. It’s better on this side of things. 🙂

If you’ve already read the original, feel free to come back tomorrow, or you know, stick around, too. Thanks for being here today.

Starting Over

“So, um, what if we move to LA?” I remember nervously, hopefully, but also mostly jokingly saying to Charles one evening back in 2018. It wasn’t unlike me to blurt out random thoughts and crazy ideas to my fiancé as he crossed the threshold into our South Florida rental—me, swiveling around in my chair from my desk in the corner, him, coming in heavy from a full day at his office. He was rarely phased by my constant need for change, mostly because saying things out loud was typically enough for my imagination without having to actually go through with anything.

Without missing a beat, he often uttered something along the lines of “yeah sure, maybe.” Charles knew how to play my game. Little did we both know that in fact, in just about six weeks’ time, my hypothetical question would render into something very real. I had visited Los Angeles exactly twice in my life, both whirlwind work trips that left me mostly familiar with the inside of buildings rather than the city itself, and Charles, well, he was going into this totally blind. So sure, makes perfect sense we’d want to move there, right?

You see, before uttering those words that one day, I was—we were—a little stuck, complacent and very, very comfortable. Living life on repeat, stagnant. Charles and I had been engaged at that point for five years, with no solid wedding plans in sight. Neither of our careers was exactly flourishing. We were in a state of “good enough” and that’s never been good enough for me. Loose discussion had been had for several years about where to go, both knowing we were craving more than the comforts and monotony of the Sunshine State. I like to joke now and say that because we couldn’t decide where to go, it was decided for us.

Everything was already such a mess, might as well throw in a courthouse elopement.

Waiting for us across the country was a new job for me, one with a significant step up in title, responsibility and salary. While most people might plan for such a large move for months, maybe even years, we had about a month and a half from “oh crap, this is happening” to my first day in my new position. Challenge [anxiously] accepted. What followed was a maelstrom of breaking leases, purging, packing, and hard conversations with family and friends (oh the tears and emotions that come with leaving everyone and everything you know). I was out of breath for a solid month and a half from decision-making, my phone locked into my hand at all times researching movers, realtors, 2/2 apartments in our budget, car shippers, new state logistics, and, because I am nothing if not thorough, marriage licenses. Everything was already such a mess, might as well throw in a courthouse elopement.

Forty-eight hours after saying “I do” in that South Florida municipal building, just us—me in my ripped jeans, him in his khakis and boat shoes—we were in our Los Angeles Airbnb, arguing about not having enough hangers and needing a new bed pad for the rock-solid mattress we were dealing with. The two of us were navigating not just a new home, a new city, new jobs, but also each other in a new marriage. We were getting used to saying the words “husband” and “wife” at the same time as figuring out what aisle the almond milk was in at our newly established grocery store.

The weight of all that newness and the emptiness of being 3,000 miles from the only life we’d ever known felt suffocating at times.

Those first few weeks were both the best of our lives and the hardest. We were married, finally (!!!), living a new adventure together we didn’t see coming just months prior, but the weight of all that newness and the emptiness of being 3,000 miles from the only life we’d ever known felt suffocating at times. Something I had quickly realized I took for granted? Driving to the gas station or CVS without a GPS and turn-by-turn navigation…in your own neighborhood. It’s small, but when even the air you’re breathing is novel, not being able to auto-pilot your way to your local Starbucks can quickly chip away at your confidence, patience and emotional stability.

When days felt heavy, we had the habit of turning to the other and saying “we can go back whenever we want, right?” The statement was in theory true, but we both knew we didn’t have any real intentions of packing back up, and heading east. It was really just a catharsis…like a deep breathing exercise, but with words. Truthfully, for me, it was simply about envisioning the comforts of being back home, with my family, friends, roads I knew. A quick little hit of serotonin to get me through the growing aches and pains.

Any lows we felt—and there were many…so many more than we anticipated—were swiftly met with wonderful highs. Our first drive through the mountains, a jaunt up the Pacific Coast Highway in pure awe, weekend trips to San Diego or Santa Barbara. The first time we ventured out to Santa Monica, walking up and down the pier like we were kids on a summer beach vacation will forever be imprinted on my mind. Los Angeles was full of all the opportunity and splendor we were desperately seeking all those years in Florida. Even the apartment we found to rent—a 100-year-old Mediterranean with coved ceilings and charming plaster walls—checked boxes I secretly had stashed away while living in all those new builder-grade suburban developments.

The act of stepping into the unknown that was Los Angeles, perhaps not the city itself, was what shook me back to life.

Now, just over two years later, finally on the other side of the unknown fog that settles in with anything new and major, it’s easy to see that this relocation was the right move for me, for us. I finally don’t feel myself lying through my teeth uncomfortably when someone asks “So, do you love it out there?” Los Angeles reinvigorated us in a way we very much needed. Actually, the act of stepping into the unknown that was Los Angeles, perhaps not the city itself, was what shook me back to life. Sure, there were many moments of weakness where we considering throwing in the towel, but I’m really proud of us for hanging in there.

We sometimes find ourselves driving out of our way to do a quick pass by the Airbnb that was our temporary home for two months when we first got here. There’s a warmth and comfort that settles in when I see it; a reminder that even when you feel like you have no idea how to get to the other side, if you’ll ever feel normal or settled again, you will, in fact, make it. We’ve both grown as individuals and as a couple in ways that would have been nearly impossible had we stayed planted back in Boca Raton. I’m not much of a green thumb, but I do know that a tree will only grow as large as the planter it’s in will allow it to. Transferring it over to something roomier can be messy, but once those old roots finally nestle into the new soil, they can spread out and sprout up into something much bigger and stronger, just like we did.

See you tomorrow, FOAS.