Back in Cali

On Monday night, as I tossed and turned until almost 2 AM, unusually frightened by the unfamiliar shadows in my hotel room, I thought to myself that I couldn't wait to come home. Now that I am here, I'm wishing I'd had just one more night in New York.

It was a good trip. The work was good, the weather was gorgeous, and the time I spent with my friends was phenomenal. Unfortunately, it just wasn't enough time.

I can't describe how good it made me feel to be back among my college friends - the ones I've known since we were 19, the ones who moved to the city with me at 22, the ones who are still there now, living their city lives without me. When I first moved, we all talked weekly or every other week; now, phone calls are monthly or spread out over even more time, as our schedules conflict and we allow the time difference to get the better of us. I had worried that I would get there and our conversations would be shallow, filled with the banal details of work or home, maybe spiced up with a tale of a tryst or two, but barely scratching the surface of where we used to be. And it was a bit like that, at first, actually, when we first met up and I had so much I wanted to say, that the only way I could keep all my news and questions from spewing out of my mouth at once was to focus on the easy, the expected.

Fortunately, once the basic questions and catch-up were out of the way, we all got back in our groove and fell into the comfort zone that used to be my life: interaction so familiar and easy and enjoyable, and apparently something that I sorely missed.

That's not to take away from my friends here in LA; rather, there is simply something so wonderfully comforting about spending time with people from your past, the only way I can describe it is as a huge sigh of relief when you hadn't even realized that you were holding your breath. I am so proud of the friends I have made in LA and constantly marvel at my luck at having found so many amazing people here; however they are all still new, and I guess I am still holding my breath a little.

As I waited in the airport taxi line on Sunday, and as I ran errands through the city streets on Monday, it occurred to me that for the first time since I had moved, I no longer felt like a New Yorker. My wardrobe screamed "LA", I was entirely too relaxed to be walking through rush hour, and I was there strictly for business - not a boyfriend or baby shower or other social call. While that partly filled me with pride, I worried that this trip was going to be a turning point - one in which the New York part of my life suddenly seemed less relevant. But, if anything, the nights with my friends this week convinced me that a very big part of who I am is based on that coast, and it's not going anywhere, no matter where I live.