You just can't blame L.A.

Sometimes I get frustrated with L.A.. I get tired of the people, the driving, the stores, the prices, and scene altogether. I think we all have these days but then sometimes life will get the best of you and you find yourself screaming and crying all at once. Of course, the natural thing to do is blame your surroundings. 

On one particular day a couple months ago I had one hell of a day just like that. 

I was already feeling low, screaming with rage at every stupid California driver, then crying because I was doing just that--screaming at a person who would never hear me. I had been having ill-luck with jobs, people, classes--everything! I was having one of those self-doubting "Oh my gosh I even look fatter than I usually do" kind of days when I had to meet my scene partner from class. 

We shared all sorts of things and he could tell I was down. On top of the usual frustrations, I was frustrated with my life and where it was going. I told him about my fears and things that were bothering me about L.A.. He then shared his experiences when he and his wife had first moved out here. He too had experienced many of the feelings I was dealing with. So one night he and his wife went to an open mic show. It was there he heard a man sing this song:

"You just can't blame L.A."

"You just can't blame L.A." 

But it's so easy to. When I was in San Francisco over the holidays with my friend from back home, I was driving like a maniac and honking my brains out when she said, "Oh no! What has L.A. done to my Helena?"

During that trip she saw me ignore vagrants on the street and watched a chatty Kathy like me, not get too chatty with anyone--an unusual thing for me. I had to explain myself that it wasn't out of a lack of kindness or because I thought I was better than anyone but because in L.A. you can't do that. 

The first couple weeks out here I learned quickly not to smile and say "hello" to everyone you pass on the street--that usually that invited unwelcome company and comments. I learned from places like Runyon Canyon (where I hike weekly) that smiling at all the hikers will get you ignored or looks that say, "you're creepy."

So I toughened up and ignore the people around me since it seemed like that's all anyone wanted. L.A. was changing me. Or at least, I was blaming L.A. 

It's weird too--finding yourself honking at a person then saying, "I hate this place!" as if it were L.A.'s fault. 

L.A.--The city of angels. 

It isn't any wonder why musicians, poets, and screenwriters write about L.A. with such flair and personality as they would a real person because she is a living thing. 

I'm not sure if anyone has ever quite donned the city as a woman but there's a quality to this place that is very feminine. In one of the greatest songs of all time, Anthony Kiedis sings a love song to her in the Red Hot Chili Pepper's song, "Under the Bridge." Throughout which, he talks about how lonely he is and how lonely the city is. 

"Together we cry."

The city is his "only" friend. They know each other. They're companions. And despite everything, he believes the city loves him right back. It's poetic and extremely heavy considering that the very bridge he threw his life away, belonged to his beloved city. 

This complexity shows that dichotomy that is still at play here in L.A. and like a person, for every angel, there is a devil that resides within. My favorite lines in The Eagles' song, "Hotel California," tap into something very real that exists here. 

"And she said, 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'
And in the master's chambers,
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives,
But they just can't kill the beast"

L.A. is a nightmare in which, "you can never leave." And no matter what you were running from--your monsters will follow you here.

While the song is arguably about materialism, excess, and self-destruction; I think it serves best as a folk tale warning those who come here to live the "All-American Dream." 

Like most, I set out here to fulfill my dreams, but dreams require a lot of surrender. You have to have thick skin and in some ways a willingness to do whatever it takes. For some dreamers, this could mean protesting on a bus while facing violent backlash and even risking their lives. For others, it could mean blowing a married man to get a part in a movie. 

I won't argue which dream is of higher value as it is beside my point. What is sad is that the latter actually does happen every single day and is probably happening right now. 

Dreams will take you to places you've never been before and some dreamers don't believe in- or love themselves enough to chase such wild dreams. It's easy to get caught in the hustle--from housewives to politicians--we all have our demons and L.A. is the perfect playground. 

Although I still kick myself for not coming out here sooner, I have to admit my mom was right. A few years back when I was still in Michigan, we were discussing my regret of not being out here and not leaving after high school like I had wanted. Then she said to me, "Helena. It's good you didn't go then. You would've ended up laced on LSD if you had--or worse, dead"

She didn't mean any harm by it, nor was she implying I ever had a drug problem--which thankfully I never did. She foresaw something dark and real. I remember how soft and concerned her voice sounded when she said it. She was right too. I've always been stubborn but when I was young, I couldn't have anything tying me down. I wanted to fly and I was filled with demons who told me I couldn't so if alcohol, marijuana, LSD, or heroine could make me fly, I would have done it to prove them wrong. 

Although I never had the desire to do such things, I wonder if I would've stayed that way if I had come out here when I was young, impressionable, insecure, and a shithead of fury. I thankfully listened (painstakingly) to my mother despite other hardships. I had too much to prove and one hell of a wild streak. California would've made for a perfect place to show the world just how crazy I could be.

I've spent years since then strengthening my spine when I was finally ready. The song "Hotel California" also being about a transition from innocence to experienced. 

Whenever I hear or say the word "experienced," I think of Jimi Hendrix. I imagine San Francisco, 1969, a year before Hendrix died. I imagine a room of flower children. I imagine the sweet sound of vinyl and the smoke of Ganja lingering in the air. Then I imagine a man. He has long silky hair. He's wearing a paisley button-down smelling of frankincense and myrrh and tight flared-out jeans. He walks in the room with a baggie full of weapons, kneels down next a wide-eyed pixie and asks, "Are you experienced?"

The hippie movement was created to move out of the quiet desperation in which they raised, to flourish in a life of examining, experimenting, and experiencing. Gone were the days of staying silent and watching the world remain confined in their boxes. It was time to escape and be experienced. 

Here are the opening lines from The Zombie's, "Time of the Season."

It's the time of the season
When love runs high
In this time, 

Give it to me easy
And let me try with pleasured hands

To take you in the sun 

to promised lands
To show you every one
It's the time of the season for loving

We still want to be experienced. So we'll do what we can to become experienced. I always loved this song. Even as a child there was a charming quality to this song that would entrance me. I was too young to understand what they lyrics meant, but found out when I got older through the help of many pleasured hands. I thought that it would all make me more "experienced." 

I wanted to experience the promised paradise offered my earthlings here on this planet. Seven minutes in heaven... Funny what age and wisdom will do to you. I think now of all the things I can get done in seven minutes. Now, experience comes from other places. For myself and many others, travel and exploration are one of the best ways to become experienced. More so, leaving things behind--breaking free from that which binds you or merely flying from the nest of comfort--however possible to grow and become who you were meant to be. 

I began writing this last night. Then this morning my apartment manager and I started shooting the breeze and talking about L.A. and the random catalysts which brought us here. Though I don't plan on staying forever, I believe I needed to come here. I needed to distance myself from my family tie that held me back (to no one's fault) from being able to express myself the way I need to. I also needed to find out what life was like elsewhere and realize that I could make it after all--that I will be okay in the end. 

In only four months something has changed within me. Despite the obstacles and possibilities that it may not work here--this move was necessary. I met incredible people and discovered more of what my heart truly wants. For the first time in my life, I'm finally beginning to believe in my capabilities which I'm not sure would have happened had I stayed.

The apartment manager felt the same way. We were both amazed at the coincidences that led us here and reflected on what our lives could have been. We both would've been unhappy. We both would have never known and knowledge does set you free.

L.A. is full of survivors like us. But what people need to remember is that L.A. is not the end-all-be-all. I didn't come out here thinking--it has to work in L.A. or my life will be over. This world is so big, there are so many places to explore and live, why should we limit ourselves?

I'm pretty good at limiting myself. I will often let age, place, time, day, and mood affect my future... "If only I were this I could do that." But L.A. won't let you. L.A. is tough.

He said, "That's the thing about L.A.. She will chew you up and spit you out. Either she will treat you well or she won't. It's like a water wheel with people constantly moving in and out. The population never changes."

Sometimes I think L.A. isn't right for me. She doesn't seem to love me or want me to stay--nothing has held me down here. 

Later, I decided to go for a hike--one of the things I love about living out here. As I stood at a light waiting to cross, a bus dropped off a passenger. As the bus drove off, the ventilation blew all the dirt, junk, garbage, and even a dirty old paper plate into my face. 

Good one L.A..