[Edited to add: Random side note – this post is from the day after I was first sexually assaulted by sexual assault guy in New York… Just in case you were curious about why I missed home oh so much (without that context).]
And I’m still not quite sure how to say it – or even how to feel it. When I was there full time, I complained about how hot it was, and the “LA Language” where you have to translate and guess what people mean (eg how “Let’s Do Lunch” is “Let’s Never See Each Other”).
I complained about how spread out it was, and how smoggy, and all that jazz. (And about Christmas lights on Palm Trees, because that seemed so silly when there’s no snow. How’s that Christmas?)
And I bet if I still lived there full time, I’d maybe complain about stuff still…
But I didn’t realize somewhere secretly in my time living there… I sort of fell in love with it A LITTLE – a little bit.
I never really realized how comfortable I got living there – and how many little things you have when you live full-time in a place.
For instance (a silly example), I am not great about getting my eyebrows waxed. But – if I have a special event going on, in LA, I know where I get them waxed. (In fact, I have a place and a backup place. (European Wax Center rocks my socks, and then there’s a surprisingly great kiosk in Macy’s… [And yes, I am aware both of these things probably exist in New York.])
I don’t often get massages. But if I want one after a marathon or something, I know exactly where I go. (The downtown Ritz Carlton spa is swanky and awesome, and on certain days of the weeks gives discounts to people who live in the neighborhood (like me).)
I know where I get my hair cut and dyed (even though I am so indecisive about what I want every single time). (Thanks for being cool, Salon 11!)
And on and on and on.
It’s all those little things that you don’t do that often that I’ve started to realize in New York, “Oh, I don’t know where to do any of this. I have no comforts of home here.”
And it’s not that big of a big deal. I’ll find those things. But there’s something nice in feeling like you’re at home – of not constantly making new decisions or figuring out new things. Every time I start to feel a little settled of “okay, now I know where I do this or this,” I realize there’s another random thing I need…
Then there are also the little things you do all the time that you also have to figure out – your favorite restaurants, your grocery store, and on and on…
I always acted like I was sooooo cool, ’cause “I’m not tied to a place. I don’t make a home. I went to two different elementary schools and 3 middle schools. I’ve moved on a whim. I’ve lived in a bunch of weird environments. I am always ready to leave like [*snaps*] that.”
Little did I realize, it turned out that living in LA (on and off, but mainly on) for over 5 years (and change)… I made a home indeed. And I’ll admit it. I miss it dearly.
[Edited to add: Obviously, the thing I missed/miss most about home were my friends. But I think the reason I didn’t include that in this original post is two-fold – a) originally this was supposed to be a 2 or 3 parter, but I was really, really sad and depressed at the time of the writing of this. So, I just didn’t make that happen. b) I think I was trying to say something that sounded kinda banal, just like this observation of “huh, I don’t know where yo get my eyebrows waxed” – as though that was sort of a window into how I was feeling, without ringing all the alarm bells that ‘something’s WRONG’ (and/or without looking too soft)… I’m tough haha.]