I live in Los Angeles. I call myself a reluctant Angeleno because I never meant to end up here in L.A., let alone stay. I’m always talking about how I’m planning to leave in the next few years or so. I’ve been saying this since 1989. I moved here from San Francisco in search of a writing job and a reasonable cost of living. The writing job never materialized and the cost of living is now on par with San Francisco. What keeps me here?
I’ve worked in just about every neighborhood from Pasadena to Century City, sought out restaurants in Artesia, Alhambra, Santa Monica, South Central, East, West, North and every other corner of Hollywood, and visited friends nesting everywhere from Marina del Rey high rises to shady craftsman wood frames in Highland Park. I’ve gotten to know the metropolis well.
I’ve been through earthquakes, fires, riots, a few mayors and police chiefs, numerous restaurants and several restaurant scenes, neighborhood makeovers and several personal incarnations. I have to admit to an emotional investment.
I love the fact that nature confronts you every day. I love the fact that I know parts of Los Angeles that are hidden from view and pretty special. Once a friend asked if I considered myself an Angeleno. He could see that I was, but I kept trying to convince him he was wrong. I come from Indiana, and have lived in San Francisco, London and Santa Barbara. I consider myself to belong to any of those places more than I belong to Los Angeles. But that isn’t the essential truth.
The truth is that there is a lot I will miss when I leave, since I plan to move sometime in the next few years or so.
