When I first moved to Los Angeles, my anxiety towards getting lost on the freeway had me clinging to side streets as if they were bread trails carefully dropped to lead one safely out of a forest of tall pines and a sinking sun.
Santa Monica Blvd, headed West, could take me straight to work. Doheny led to Sunset and held the promise of $15 shows at the Roxy, Key Club and Whiskey. Sepulveda, if I wanted it to, could take me to Hermosa Beach for a cheesesteak at Big Mike’s on a Sunday. It’s funny how a sandwich feels like a special treat when you’re alone in a city, young and don’t have much money.
Eventually, you get familiar with the urban terrain and outgrow your side streets. Freeways become crucial arteries to a heart that beats to the rhythm of discovery and newfound favorites.
Your social circle grows.
And, before you know it, “home” stops being where you’re from and starts being where you now reside.
In April, I will have lived in Los Angeles for 22 years. Come April 3rd, Lindsay and I will be packing our bags and heading East towards a new adventure in North Carolina.
It’s a bittersweet departure.
I should start by saying that first and foremost, I’m grateful. Late last year, I got a great job with a fantastic company. My gratitude for the opportunity, in the face of a pandemic and brutal job market, cannot be understated. And honestly, I’m excited for new adventures out East.
However, I’d be remiss If I didn’t confess that it’s odd not to properly say goodbye to the friends, family and city I’ve come to love so dearly.
I want to see another show at the Troubadour. Enjoy a pint at the King’s Head. Take the strand down to Hinano and high five strangers on the bike ride back. Perhaps enjoy a final meal in Korea Town, wake up with meat sweats and ask myself “Is this a heart attack, or just heartburn from twelve shots of soju, eight Hites and five pounds of beef?”
Such are departures in a world which has seemingly been on hold for a year.
In some respects, our leaving doesn’t feel real. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that friends have largely been rendered virtual and the city, as it stands now, feels like a shell of itself.
I don’t want to remember it this way. Limping. Boarded up. Half-empty. Sullen.
And maybe I don’t want to say good-bye on these terms.
No handshake. No hugs. An inability to be shoulder to shoulder, toasting good times, with friends new and old.
So, instead, I guess I’ll just keep it simple and say the following:
Thanks to everyone who has made my time…our time…in LA so great.
We’re certainly going to miss all of you, from LA, down to Orange County and further South, to San Diego.
Fortunately, flights back home are not too far of a journey.
When we visit, I look forward to taking those side streets from yesteryear back to friends and a world that I remember and will not soon forget.