Los Angeles Refugee

My dad, who has lived in a small town in Missouri with a population of less than 300 people his entire life, was baffled when I told him I was moving to Los Angeles in 2011. I was living in Denver at the time and my dad was okay with that, but the thought of me moving to L.A. sent him into such a tizzy. My normally calm, laid-back, and somewhat oblivious father immediately turned into a bundle of anxiety. He was so confused as to why his 25-year-old daughter was moving to such a chaotic, lost city.

At that time, I was so full of enthusiasm and delusional hope that I was unwilling to even hear my dad out. I felt my life was overdue for a change and I couldn’t think of a more fitting place to execute that change than L.A.

Santa Monica Pier

The 25-year-old me couldn’t imagine why my dad would want to stay in the same small town his entire life doing the same thing day in, day out with the same people. Didn’t everyone want a fast-paced life with uncertainty around every corner? Didn’t everyone want to be in the center of all the action where literally anything can happen on a daily basis? Didn't he want to live in a city that had more than 1 stop sign?

He and I simply couldn’t see eye to eye during that time. I wanted fresh, new, and exciting. He wanted (and still wants) familiar, old, and comfortable. I tried multiple times to convince my dad to move to California; Big Bear Lake to be exact. It seemed like the perfect location; close enough to me to be convenient, but far enough away from L.A. to satisfy his need for a more peaceful town – cheaper real estate, too.

His response to my pleas? “I’m happy where I am.”

Why didn’t I think of that? Happy where I am… What a concept. In fact, it was a concept that was beyond the scope of my immature thinking at the time. Life is hard enough as it is; why make it hard for the thrill of it? There is a fine but incredibly distinct line between a healthy dose of challenge and needlessly dragging yourself through the mud.

I uprooted myself from Denver, where I had lived for 17 years, all for what? To be “cool”? For anxiety and higher rent? I never knew what it felt like to have uncontrollable anxiety until I moved to Los Angeles.

On the other hand, if one were to intentionally lack ambition and stop chasing material wealth for the rest of his or her life, would that be a life well lived? I guess it doesn’t matter what you or I think, so long as that person is happy and isn’t harming anyone else. After all, isn’t happiness the ultimate goal in life?

My dad is already happy and therefore has achieved his ultimate goal. Why fix something if it isn’t broken? I need to mind my own business.

On a positive note, Los Angeles is a city where show business thrives and creativity rules the land. Ambition is the great driving force behind excellence, innovation, and monetary wealth. There is absolutely nothing wrong with ambition or Los Angeles; I just happen to think a lot of Angelenos go about it in a way that eats away at their souls, and I’m no longer interested in participating in the madness.

Fast forward 6 years and I’m still in L.A. – reluctantly, and with a much different mindset. I heard we enter new phases in our adult lives every 5 to 10 years. I never imagined this to be as true as I do today. Sometimes life requires us to experience many versions of what we don’t want in order to know what we want and need.

Crowds irritate me. Traffic frustrates me. High rent baffles me and forces me to slave away, inching further away from the life that is intended for me.

What I want is more peace and less chaos. What I want is familiar, old, and comfortable. This feels right, like the next logical step in my life. But I can’t have it externally. Not yet.

I’ll start internally and work my way out.