Snapshots of Home

I cracked the largest grin of my trip when I saw the Virgin Atlantic flight sign showing destination: Los Angeles. LAX. What have I become? This trip convinced me, that while the world is a grand and interesting place, I live in the best place in the world. I don't want to move to Austin, or Portland, become an expat or become a global nomad. Right here in West Hollywood. Dreams are created and realized. 

--

It's the smell of LAX: jetfuel and airplane exhaust. I've told my seatmate, a Brit who is coming for a Hollywood gig, "In LA, anything can happen. Your dreams can come true. That's what's amazing about this place. You _can_ stay," I say to his desire to find more work after his short-term gig, "but the trick is give yourself no option to go back." It's step 4, Burn Your Ships.  He's off on an amazing adventure to explore the City of Angeles. I am excited for him.

--

Up, early morning. Everything is quiet. The dog, the boyf are asleep. I take the truck and drive the city streets. In search of half and half and breakfast provisions. I step outside. The air is chilly. But there's an undertone of warmth. Then I breathe deep. It hits me, the messages traveling my nervous system from my nostrils, lungs to my brain, exploding into meaning. The smell of Los Angeles. Moisture. Cool. Undertone of desert heat. The edge of possibilities. 

Sun rising upon the Hollywood Hills. 

--

So many choices. The aisles are stacked with boxes, products being unloaded. I admired the branding, the perforations to unpackage individual packaged entrees. I had never thought about the wholesale and shipping side. I see the choice. Such variety. I think, this is an upside of the free market. Such selection. It's kind of amazing.

I get into a conversation with a shop stocker. He talks to me in Spanish, I hesitate and reply. My brain is a scramble with languages. I realize I'm much more comfortable speaking bad Spanish than French. 

I come across a display of Avocados. It's like I've found the city of gold. I restrain myself from kneeling in worship to selecting a few for breakfast. Then there are strawberries from Salinas, I imagine the fields, rows of short green clumps up north. I know I'm romanticizing, but what can you expect? I'm an unapologetic Angelino.

I am so happy to be home. I've missed my city.

Comments

[Stephen Lombardi]

I love this writing style. It makes me feel like I'm On The Road with Jack Kerouac.