When I first moved to Los Angeles (going on three months now), I was elated despite breaking up with a guy just two days prior. Suffice it to say, a lot was happening and I couldn't process it all. I'd get a little jumpy and people would tell me that moving was the second most stressful thing a person could undergo.
But I wasn't that stressed. I was actually quite fine. I was having fun, meeting remarkable people, and settling in.
That's the funny thing, people have lives and once you are unpacked the party is over. The welcome wagon had moved on and it was time for me to get down to business which I did. I immediately signed up for two acting classes and began finding a new church home. And I had only been here two weeks! People were astounded by my speed.
Then the daily job search ensued. At first it was fun and I was trying my hand at anything that sounded interesting. I was believing in the possibilities. But as the days went on without a response, job searching became an obsession and I would begin the moment I woke up (roughly 8am) and search until roughly 8 or 9pm. Some days I didn't even have step outside. I literally felt barricaded to my computer and in an effort to change scenery, I'd move from my desk to the living room.
I didn't have many people to hang out with either and had to resort to doing things alone. I had my roommate and his friends but you know how that goes, plus we were all into different things. That's when it hit me--oh yeah, I had moved across the country, away from friends and family, and I was alone.
I'd call my family crying and of course they always suggested I move back. Damn them! I know they said it out of love but that's not what I wanted to hear. I was just having a hard time and going through a major life change. I knew I needed to give it more time but patience was getting the best of me.
I was trying so hard too. I was going out alone, inviting anyone I met into my friendship circle, and asking classmates if they wanted to hang out. But there were no bites.
One day after church, I called my mom crying. I had been in California for almost 4 weeks. I told her how lonely I felt and how miserable I was. All I did anymore was job search. I felt so much pressure from everyone, even my roommate, like I was a child again. I felt like I had to find a job in order to gain any respect--self or otherwise. To top it off, I hadn't even done anything in L.A. yet.. I hadn't gone out to sight-see and rarely stepped foot out of the apartment. I was living in L.A. and I was staying cooped up!
She said I needed to recharge and suggested I call my cousin in the Bay area, tell him what was happening, and ask to visit for a couple days. So I did. He was (is) one of the greatest people I know, if anyone would pep me up--it'd be him! Serendipitously, the two days I wanted to visit, he had off work, so we set the date and I began packing.
My initial plan was to take the coastal route to San Francisco. Google maps determined it would take 8.5 hours in comparison to the 5 hour, highway route. My roommate countered saying that it was more like 12 hours and I'd have to stay somewhere. I decided I would do both: Set off for a couple hours along the coast, then drive west to drive the rest of the way on the most direct route.
Well, as I was trying to get out of L.A. the next day, traffic and heat were irritating me so much that after an hour of just trying to get out of the city to head to the coastal highway, I gave up and opted for the direct route for the entire journey. I wasted at least an hour and this frustrated me as well but once I got going at a speed more than 35mph and with less and less cars in view, my irritation subsided.
I assume the coastal highway would have been beautiful, touristy, and majestic. The direct route on the other hand went straight through the valley of California and was nothing but dusty farmland with giant truck stops every 50 miles or so. The highway consisted primarily of truckers and other long distance travelers who sped well over the limit because that's what you do in the middle of nowhere, right?
I had been in a Backstreet Boys mood that day (having made plans to see my cousin, my spirits were lifted) and was jamming out to all my old school CDs. I also started listening to country music on the radio which was a relief as you don't find much of that in L.A.. I stopped when I needed to and felt all around amazing to be back on the road--a place I love so much.
What I forgot to mention is that since Texas, I needed a wheel adjustment or so my brother and I thought from the way my car was acting. Oh I'll get to that later, it's not that pressing. But the further I got, the more noise my car began to make, almost like my tires were flat. I stopped to check them out and fill them up but they looked fine. Got back on the road but the noise was still so loud you could hardly hear the music when it was cranked all the way up. I'll have someone look at it in the Bay area and get a wheel adjustment there.
I finally arrived in Oakland with the noisiest car you ever heard. It sounded like I was driving an four flat tires. I met my cousin outside his building and he hopped in my car to help me find a place to park (and people think parking in L.A. is difficult). We found one two blocks down and parked. I noticed glass on the street and sidewalk but didn't think anything of it. We began to unload my stuff and I asked if I should leave my clothes in there until morning. He suggested I bring everything because too much stuff could make me susceptible to theft. I grabbed my stuff, leaving my books, journal, and thousands of CDs (oh yes, I still fervently listen to CDs) on the passenger seat. We made our way to the apartment where his new beau, a strong Manhattan, and a delicious plate of food were awaiting me. I was happier already and thrilled to be out of L.A. and with loved ones.
We all passed out on the queen size bed. We being the two guys, me, two cats, and a dog. But it was cozy and nice and I'll never forget the gooey feeling of joy I had being with such wonderful people. We had to wake early to move my car before the meter went off, then we would find another spot to park (this is how it is in Oakland, constantly moving your car). Once that was done, we were all going out to brunch.
I was still dressed in last night's clothes when we headed to my car. My thinking was move my car before I get an expensive ticket which will be worth more than changing my clothes real quick. As my car came into sight I looked at, looked at the driver's window, looked down at the glass on the ground, looked back up at the driver's window in case I was seeing things, then stopped. "My car has been broken into!"
"Oh no, I'm sorry pickle!" (Pickle is the term of endearment my cousin often calls me)
I was stunned. I had driven all over this country, left my car parked in so many random areas (including Oakland years prior before the hipsters took over), and had never had my car broken into.
I saw the glove compartment open, glass allover the driver's seat and floor, and my stuff thrown everywhere. The first thing my cousin and I notice is my Fiona Apple CD (this would make its way into some inside jokes later on). Thief must not have been a Fiona fan.
I didn't cry. I didn't freak out. I didn't panic. I chose the attitude of, "well it could be a lot worse" and started cleaning my car. Actually, my biggest fear was that they may have took my journal because that would be really embarrassing and I just pictured it being held for ransom on craigslist like I was Nancy Drew. Oh whew, they just threw it in the back seat.
As we went through my things and cleaedr everything up I realized nothing was taken. Not one damn thing! Now I'm a little offended. They didn't want my sunglasses with one of the arms missing. They didn't want my Fiona, Nine Inch Nails, Skynard, or Aqua CDs. They didn't want my phone charger that was shredded from overuse. They didn't want my acting book. They didn't want my glittery microphone I use to sing in the car with from when I was David Bowie for Halloween. And most surprisingly of all, they didn't want my .97 cent Charmin toilet seat covers which were still in their original packaging.
What kind of thief was this! And to not find anything of any value! This was crap! All joking aside though, did he not see the empty bottle of hand sanitizer in my console or the Madonna and Chumbawamba cassette tapes in my dash underneath the cassette player. Why on earth would this guy (I assume male or my Fiona would've been gone) have looked in my car and thought it would be a lucrative deal? Everybody to this day gets a good laugh out of the whole scenario. My roommate, going through the bag of "things" left from the incident agreed that if there was any car not worth breaking into, it was mine.
But more than that, I now had to get my window replaced which was going to set me back $100 bucks or so. For all this work I would've rather just given it to the person who clearly needed it more than all this was worth. My cousin told me not to bother with the police because in Oakland they wouldn't come for this. I didn't bother with insurance either because that was the deductible anyway.
So we hopped in my car with a new change of plans, deciding we would drive into San Francisco, leave my car at the shop, and have brunch while we waited. As we drove to the bad part of Oakland to drop his boyfriend's car off, my cousin could feel the way my car was driving and told me he didn't want me to leave until I had it looked at (because remember, I still need a wheel alignment). I told him I'd have the shop looking at my window do it and we all set off in chuckles and glee about the morning's drama.
But the laughing stopped when we hit a pothole as we pulled up to a stop sign. Then, what sounded like an offensive leg fracture, we got out to inspect what I thought to be a flat tire.
A flat tire would've paled in comparison to the sight of my tire being broken off from my car and laying at an angle having taken most of the bumper with it. The axle had broken off just like a bone and the only thing keeping the tire still attached were the few metal tendons and ligaments.
Still, I didn't freak out. I might've said a "holy shit" but that was more in response to the sight I was witnessing. Now I had to call my insurance.
Did I mention this was all within 20 or so minutes of seeing my car had been broken into and was a completely unrelated incident? Yeah, try explaining this to an insurance company without sounding crazy.
So in-between wait times, calls, and more reporting which took way longer than it should have, my cousin and his boyfriend were making their own calls when next thing I know some guy pulls up, starts inspecting it, and then I have 3 different people telling me what to do while the insurance company keeps telling me useless information. The guy, from a nearby auto body shop is telling me where to get a tow truck etc... The insurance company is making me go through so many hoops and not helping for anything that as I call back and forth, another team of men pull up and begin towing my car away.
Okay. Never mind. I guess they got it. I tell my insurance company who are now more confused than I am what's happening.
At this point, I still didn't cry or freak out. I was more stunned than anything. Everyone around me kept saying, "you're lucky it didn't happen on the freeway." My cousin added, "or we'd be visiting you in intensive care."
The only time I did get upset was when the insurance company told me I'd have to wait up to four business days for an adjuster to come out in order for the matter to be resolved. Four days! But I was only supposed to be here for two! What would I do? Then I had my Improv class coming up. I couldn't miss that! I hated missing class especially one that I loved.
I finally just hung up and moved on. I was also finally able to speak to the mechanic who saved my car. He told me he'd take care of everything. I told him that'd be wonderful and I'd take care of getting myself some brunch which would now be including mimosas. Lots and lots of mimosas.
My cousin, his boyfriend, and I ended up at a retro hipster diner known for their chicken and waffles. My cousin, bless his heart, ordered an entire bottle of champagne and orange juice.
Looking back I can say the most probable cause of my serenity was being surrounded by such love and joy that both my cousin and his boyfriend exhibit. When you're in a place (physical or mental) and you just believe without doubt you are loved, nothing bad can shake you. This would be my mentality for most of the trip there.
After brunch they took me thrift store and recycled art shopping. My cousin's boyfriend fell in love with these 70s style sunglasses and made my cousin buy them for me. My cousin also bought me an evil eye bracelet to ward off evil and bad luck as they seemed to be following me.
We then headed back to the apartment to get ready for my cousin's work party that evening.
When we got back to the apartment my cousin and his boyfriend left me to relax and shower while they ran some errands. Once alone, I sat on their couch and for a moment the universe was empty and calm. I still hadn't changed from yesterday's clothes and had to shower. But first, I began to pray. I began to give thanks for being surrounded by loved ones, for having my car in a safe place, for the safety of everyone who was in the car, and for it happening where it did and not on the highway where I would have been alone in the middle of nowhere.
Then it all hit me and I began to sob. I sobbed and sobbed, saying my prayers out loud. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You saved me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Every detail was beginning to make sense in my brain. We had driven maybe 7 miles when the tire came off. It broke off at a stop sign. That was a blessing. But what if I had decided to take the longer route? What if I had driven for an hour or so on the coastal route and switched to the direct route? Calculating. That would've put this incident on the highway. The speed limit was 70mph, which I was going (roughly). There were a lot of truckers. What if it had broken off and I spun into a truck? What if there hadn't been any annoying traffic that made me want to get the heck out of L.A.? What if I had left earlier like I intended?
All the what-ifs lead me to believe that angels were certainly watching over me. My car was already driving terribly but I still made it to Oakland with only a few miles to spare. My car was broken into but if it hadn't been, my procrastinating ass probably would've left it parked and never had it checked out. I was also with one of my favorite people in the entire world and only a Bart ride away from my favorite city in the entire world.
I got in the shower and relished every drop of water that graced my body. All my thoughts and emotions poured out of me and I kept praying, thank you. Thank you for saving me.
Some people may have thought this was all hoopla and I was over-thinking but if they had been in my shoes, it's a miracle how everything transpired. Some people may have also felt unsettled being so far from home and at the mercy of others. But I just knew I was loved and being watched over. I felt safe and figured there was nothing I could do. And to be honest, having all those worries taken out of my hands felt incredible. I gave it all away. I prayed and believed it would all be taken care of.
I told my friends back home what happened. They all were just stunned by my nonchalant attitude. One even admired the fact that the incident didn't cause me to want to pack up and go back home.
What was supposed to be a two-day trip became a two-week fiasco and it wasn't all perfect. I had to drop the two classes (without any refund) that could've helped in my career path, I had no way of job searching as all my things were back in L.A., and I was sharing a bed with a two men and a farm; not to mention that ridiculous bill I still had to pay after insurance.
But because of all this, I reconnected with family (including meeting some I had never met before), made friends with locals, learned more about my favorite city, ate the most amazing food, painted on the rooftop, was given ample amounts of TLC and support, and above all, was healed.
Up until then I had been drowning in worry that those two weeks away had become blessings and time to do exactly what I had needed to do-- recharge and reconnect with who I am.
No matter what your circumstances, it's easy to lose yourself. We get caught up in the most mundane crap and turn it into our own little hell on earth. Sometimes it takes a big push to throw you back into your swing. For me it took the one thing I hate giving up the most-- control. I had no control over what happened those two weeks and all I could do was literally go with the proverbial flow. And because of this, I had two of the most magical weeks of my life.
Since arriving back to L.A., my attitude has changed. I've made more friends and have taken time to stop and smell the lemon trees. I'm cooking more, writing more, and traveling more. I went back and spent Christmas in San Francisco. And just last night, I arrived back from Vegas.
I have a friend who likes to use the word grace a lot. I know what she means but I never really knew what it means. Nevertheless, I've acquired the word into my vocabulary and am using it more and more. I guess that is what I've learned the most from this new journey I'm on. Aside from having grace on others, you need to have grace on yourself. Sure, you can always freak out, go crazy, lose your mind, hate yourself, drop dead and die-- but what good has that ever done for any of us?
Grace doesn't justify hurting others but it can help in your growth and healing. I'm not a saint, I'm not a know-it-all, I don't have all the answers, but I do have experience. I could've gone nuts when my car broke down, I could've let money and worry cloud my ability to have fun, I could even continue to be a miserable sack of shit for not having landed a job yet.
But I'm gonna choose grace this time. Sounds crazy I know, but I'm gonna give it a shot and see what happens.
Until next time, thank you for reading.
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