I haven't written much in the last week, not since I left LA for NY last Thursday night on the redeye.
I've had LA on my mind.
And as lovely as my Christmas visit back East was, I was really looking forward to coming back home to the West Coast.
But upon my arrival tonight, sitting on a bench at LAX waiting for the Super Shuttle, I wondered what I'd been looking forward to?
I was alone, surrounded by packages and luggage full of presents from people I love, and wrapping paper leftover from giving gifts to people I love, waiting for some anonymous driver in a shared passenger van to bring me back to the office, where I'd left my car parked.
No one was waiting eagerly for my arrival.
No one noticed when I arrived.
There were no hugs and kisses, not like when I landed in Syracuse. There were no smiling faces, not like when I drove up to pick up Edith and Eric in Cohoes.
So what did I come back to?
Why did I choose to leave New York to spend New Year's Eve here, in my new hometown, when I could've spent it in a familiar place with friends who were sure to kiss me at midnight?
But New York City isn't so familiar to me anymore. Even since my last visit in October, the bus stops have changed, the traffic patterns have adjusted. For the first time since I first moved to NYC in 1997, I felt like a tourist.
I longed for my car, my apartment, my crosswalks, my perils.
Because, when it comes down to it, I really love LA. I love getting to know LA.
But I don't think LA loves me very much. At least now. At least, not yet...
A Place Where I Used to Live
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