I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
-- Sylvia Plath, "The Moon and The Yew Tree"
It's not that I don't like LA. It's fun. There are plenty of things to do if you feel like doing them. It's a metropolis, and once you've lived here you likely are going to be bored anywhere else in the U.S. besides NYC. But I don't love it. Then again, I've never loved any place I've ever lived.
I don't think I'd be bored outside the U.S., mind you. But the places I've been, of which I continue to dream (Berlin, for example, and Prague) ... well, I romanticize those places heavily.
Do I actually want to love the city in which I dwell? I might not. It's become such a part of my identity to be contrary. I lament not fitting in - and yet, this is what I do ... I don't fit in. If I ever felt like I fit in, would I be myself anymore?
LA, like many (most?) large cities, can be a revolving door. I have friends who used to live here, but now they're gone. We're still in touch, and they're still among my dearest friends. Everyone I know in LA now (aside from [ ]) is an acquaintance, really. And of course [ ] is moving soon, so he'll join the ranks of Those Who've Left.
Leaving is what people do, though. Sometimes they disappear altogether. It seems nothing is permanent, except for those things inside ourselves that never change... those personality traits we can't seem to shake. But would we necessarily want to shake them?
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