Hello! I’m writing this from my studio apartment in Los Angeles, where I’ve lived for the last almost-three months. I’m going to be posting here more often but probably in short snippets. I’ve also been journalling a la Morning Pages for over six months, but while that’s a half-awake stream of consciousness only for myself (usually ends up being about what I plan to do and who I’m annoyed at that day) posting here makes me feel just sliiiightly more inclined to tighten it up and share possibly interesting things about my time in LA.
Which brings me to the reason I even started this up again. Long story short, coming here felt like a random decision without much purpose. Sure, the city intrigued me, my job had ended, and I was offered a good place to live. But I just couldn’t get a strong gut sense of whether it was right (unusual for my sensitive gut!)
And the last three months have reflected how turbulent and unstructured I’ve felt inside–I’ve been lonelier than ever before, which made me intensely depressed/antisocial, which triggers my OCD. I’ve flip-flopped on whether or not I should get another copywriting job, which led me to a dozen interviews, which got me interested in entertainment advertising, which I thought I loved, which helped me land a job, which then made me freak out and realize a 9-6 plus an hour’s commute each way was never and will never be for me, which led me to switch to part-time and now sees ya girl underemployed again (but cashing in those unemployment bennies yo)
If you’re still reading I love you.
So I’ve been up, (mostly) down, and all around literally running around town and running unhealthy thoughts in my head, since I’m alone 80% of the time. But today, just minutes ago, I remembered why I’m here!
Yep, I had a problem and the answer appeared to me from the ether. I wish most things worked that way. Which is why I ran (figuratively) to you/Wordpress to share it.
Basically I realized: I came to write!!! Shocker.
Okay, I knew this in theory, in the sense that I talked about it am taking writing classes. But I’d forgotten a tiny crucial thing which is this image that I used to have back when I was still considering moving to LA:
It was basically a vision of the ideal life for my time here (I’m likely staying for just a year) in Echo Park. I imagined a bungalow cottage with jacaranda bushes and hummingbirds and a wooden slab of a desk where I’d have room to sprawl out with multiple mugs of beverages and stacks of books that would inspire me when I was stuck.
Well, I have none of those specific things. But I did envision seeing things differently, learning more about myself, spending days alone writing. Which is the part i DO do (doodoo). I’ve dived into a piece of work I’m inspired and proud of, lost track of time, felt at peace with my own company, and even made myself laugh out loud like a crazy person.
My point is, remembering this vision I had back in the day is the balm that soothes me. It helped my mission to write finally sink in. Writing means being alone and uncomfortable. Questioning everything. Spending more time with friends created by words than friends in real life.
So I’m kinda doing something I said I would, which in turn helps me build trust in myself. If you write or want to, you probably get how much that tiny success makes a big difference. Because the hardest part is not having anyone give a fuck about your success or whether or not you write, but still just going ahead and spending hours of your life doing it anyway. It’s very rebellious to everyone except yourself. That’s part of why I love it.
Being alone has always scared me and fascinated me at the same time. Facing this fear and writing are synonymous to me–they come as a pair. My hesitation to write and hesitation to be alone are chicken and egg. That’s why I came to LA. Realizing this is just the beginning. I haven’t even done the real work yet, but now I see where the work lies.
Anyway, that was my “short” update for today. Peace.