Three years removed from calling myself a resident of Los Angeles, I still find myself fully consumed with thoughts about my time there. I often linger on what might have been. No matter how I attempt to wrap myself in the fabric of Seattle, Los Angeles persists.  

Los Angeles is unlike any place I have ever called home. It is bustling and overwhelming. It feels boundless, and its impact stretches far beyond the limits of the city. My complaints with the city mirror those expressed by people who have called LA home their whole lives. The traffic is a pain. Urban sprawl makes quick travel impossible. Crowds are everywhere you go. Solitude does not exist. Homelessness, a challenge arising from decades of failed policy, has consumed the region. Beauty exists in pockets, but one must wade through garbage and graffiti. Finally, owning a home in Los Angeles seems to be a luxury only afforded to the well-connected and wealthy.   

Yet, Los Angeles is a world of endless opportunity. Creativity abounds on every street corner. Such a large city represents cultures from all over the world. Street after street offers new culinary experiences. Festivals and food bring people together in beautiful ways, allowing cultures to blend organically. The weather is a dream. Every artist, musician, musical, and exhibit you could desire visits Los Angeles. And the list could and does go on.  

Despite the chorus who thumb their noses at this city, community and friends came easily for me. The work was meaningful. And there were endless opportunities to explore my passions. Los Angeles was not a city I expected to love so deeply. But when I fell in love, I fell deeply. Taking negatives and positives together, I thought I found a city I could call home for the rest of my life. Now, no longer living there presents a struggle I thought I would have exercised by now. Yet, the struggle remains.  

Three years removed from calling myself a resident of Los Angeles, I struggle with no longer being able to do so. As I sit here, I do not know what the future holds. Amid an eight-year relationship, the story I am writing is no longer my own. Perhaps we will write another chapter in our story of Los Angeles. Maybe we will never call LA home again. Maybe my struggle will morph into acceptance. The end of this struggle is unknown.

Be good to each other,  

Nathan