California has become something of a mythical force in my life. I was in high school when we left, already filled with more angst than my poor parents should have had to deal with. Along with every high school kid who has ever been forced to move, I was not particularly pleased to move to Missouri.
In the time since that move, I have talked about going back at great length. But first I went to college in DC. And then I decided to go to graduate school in Paris. And then I decided that I wanted to keep traveling for a good while longer and that LA would ruin that. I decided that I couldn’t go back now, because once I did, I would never leave.
In short, I was reluctant to do that because I was afraid. I was partly afraid that it would be an awful lot like committing to something, which is still a terrifying concept for me. Equally potent, however, was the concern that I might be wrong. The glorious nostalgia of childhood has been soaking in a decade of wishful thinking, creating a warped image of the place. It might turn out that I don’t actually fit there, and that I will never be able to tie myself to anything.
So I returned from Paris and applied for jobs here in Missouri to save up money. Essentially, to do exactly what I did after I graduated from college. Come home and regroup until I got desperate enough to devise an escape plan.
As I was leaving a job interview in the city thirty minutes north of here, I was thinking about that city’s downtown. It is kind of neat and I tried to picture myself becoming a regular at one of the places I passed on my way back to the freeway. The objective was to talk myself into getting excited about this opportunity; instead, it made me cry. I cried for a solid ten minutes at the thought of still being in this state a year from now.
I didn’t tell anyone about this at the time. I calmed down and went back to thinking that this was the best and most sensible plan. Still, I applied for a few things in LA, expecting nothing to come of it. However, I did get one interview while I was in town visiting.
The difference in the way I felt coming away from these two interviews spoke volumes about what I needed to do. None of my reasons for being reticent to go back to LA really made any sense. I have reached a point where I would really just like to know. I would like to know how good a fit it is or isn’t.
This doesn’t mean I can’t still decide to up and move to South America because I feel like it. It does, however, mean that if I do choose to do something like that, I can do it far less encumbered. I can make choices without this thing nagging at me. And, if it turns out that I go and I am so happy that I don’t ever want to go anywhere else again, that’s fine too. It’s not like I’ve never been anywhere or done anything. As much as I want to go to ALLOFTHEPLACES, there is nothing wrong with finding a place that feels like home. That’s a ridiculously obvious statement, I know, but it’s a new thing for me.
Nor does any of that undermine the fact that this is exciting in its own right. International travel has made me a little jaded. Where’s the adventure if I can actually speak the language of the place I’m going? This is why it’s probably going to be a thousand times harder for me than travel. Navigating a foreign city by myself? Easy. Working a normal job? What!?
In case you weren’t aware or hadn’t guessed, I got that job in LA. It seems like a good fit and I have a very good feeling about the job. As I have just said, I’ve also got a host of good feelings surrounding the whole going back to LA thing. At some point tomorrow evening I will arrive at my best friend’s apartment with a car load of crap, and I’ll start another new adventure. I genuinely can’t wait.