I love LA. Wholeheartedly. From the moment I landed at LAX almost 30 years ago, it's been home. From the chaotic grunge of Hollywood to the sands of Pacific Palisades, LA has been my one and only.
But now, I don't want to go back.
I came to Vermont to nestle in the solitude and safety of my parents and the mountains. Pandemic LA was rattling. Noisy. Concrete. No beach access. No spending time with friends. No time outdoors.
The apartment felt claustrophobic. The terrible man upstairs amplified in confinement.
So I left.
I wrote fireside, got destroyed by my mother in too many card games, organized and volunteered to get pro-choice democratic women into office, snowshoed, read books, pitched agents, revised, revised, revised.
But as the snow melted, so did the calm. Vaccines were coming. Spring was coming. The time to return was coming and all I felt was dread.
How could that be? How could I dread going back to the city I love? What had changed?
It turns out, sometimes when you step away for long enough, you can see there's not much left.
So, I realized I don't have to go back. At least not for longer than to get rid of everything and pack up what I want to keep.
I can work from anywhere, so I should probably go somewhere.
So for now, that's the plan. Go somewhere.
