Nobody Lives In LA

Nobody lives in L.A.

Visitors join us

Giving up the security of permanence

In exchange for never feeling

That their wings have been clipped.

I understand, you flew here to be free.

But why do you insist that everything be so temporary and portable?

Even and especially, your emotions.

Is it because you have somewhere else to go home to twice a year and in emergencies?

Someplace with seasons and trees

And roots tying your family together.

A creek in your yard

And the freedom to play

Until the streetlights come on.

In L.A. they say,

"We have everything here"

And we do.

Any place you’d like to go

As long as you go carefully

In a group

Walk the women to our cars at night

Or at least travel in numbers.

Safety in numbers.

In L.A. you are a number

Instead of a name.

Cattle calls.

Crowded lines.

Bigger numbers for bigger rent.

You account for the financial loss of staying here

"But I get to go to the beach whenever I want"

Even though you only go once a year.

But yes, we have everything.

We are a land of dreams and opportunities

And entitled people

Who angrily throw bricks

When the six months they gave themselves to "make it" isn't enough

I am from L.A.

It is a long game, even when it's your home.

But it's not a game.

You created that, traveler.

And now I live on your checkered spaces

Constantly one step forward and two steps back

Until I can learn that "Go" is no closer to my destination than "Free Parking"

Besides, free parking is hard to find here

So when you find it, why not think about settling for a while?

I know in L.A. settling is a word for not getting what you want.

But this is my home.

We don't dance on the freeway like they do in the movies

And that's okay.

It's a small world.

Don't flip off the guy in traffic

Even if he cuts you off

That is our most common meet-cute

And 8 and a half times out of 10

He's the person you're rushing to meet

Your next employer

Your sister's new boyfriend

Everyone is someone in L.A.

We are simultaneously a big world and a small one

And I envy you, traveler.

Because it seems your home is only what it is.

But do birds return sheepishly if they want to visit home after they get kicked out of the nest

Oh is their mere survival proof that they triumphantly learned to fly?

So instead of fleeing for orange-yellow-red fall trees or a mortgage I can afford

I choose to continue making this my home.

Sometimes the ground goes out from under me

But the ceiling never does

Because this is not a set

This is my home.