Life in LA: Landing
Sometimes opening a new chapter in life is slow and meticulous. Like turning the page of a book. You get a glimpse of the next page as it’s happening and everything comes together in the simple turning of that page. Sometimes, it’s as abrupt as tires screeching onto black tarmac.
The LA skyline stretches out in a hazy, languid snake as the plane rattles on descent. It’s surreal: being here, seeing this place that had only existed as a space in my mind, as a dreamy what-if.
The city of angels: where people full of dreams move to every day. And—as my parents love to remind me—eventually leave with empty pockets. It’s a place where I expected to find unforgiving people and unrelenting standards. Where everyone was so focused on securing their own bag that they wouldn’t hesitate to steamroll you.
I don’t doubt there are people here with that sentiment, but my experience so far has been of a place where people are excited to get to know one another. There’s a feeling of camaraderie in the air, where everyone’s individual creative pursuits can overlap and magnify each other.
Maybe it’s the feeling of a once-in-a-lifetime pandemic finally beginning to loosen its grip, that promise of better days to come. Maybe it’s the sunshine and golden bodies on the beach and the artists crafting tableaus and the writers creating poetry. Maybe it’s something in the water.
People understand the creative mind here. That drive to do whatever it takes to make your dreams a reality. And that includes moving across the entire country to an unknown city with nothing but a few scripts and a whole lot to prove.
