Peaks and Valleys

I remember the first time I hiked Temescal Canyon. It was a beautiful sunny day in November, and, still less than nine months since I'd moved here, I was utterly entranced by LA's seemingly endless supply of charms.

I was also lonely and bitter and shedding silent tears as I hiked the trail that day, trying to get past a breakup and wondering what LA really held for me, what I was doing across the country, so far from home. I had no roots here, then, and only a handful of friends; I spent many nights that winter wondering what lay ahead, if I should continue blindly uphill or say goodbye to the Technicolor magic and return to the dark shadows I'd left behind.

I hiked Temescal again this afternoon, the first time, in fact, I'd ever gone back. I've avoided it since then, always remembering that day, never wanting to revisit that rocky terrain, that clouded part of an otherwise spectacular year. But when my friend Miya suggested the hike, earlier this week, it seemed like an apt activity since my mind has been sort of clouded, anyway.

My friend Laura is moving out of LA in two weeks. I am slightly short of devastated.

I've written about Laura before. How she was one of my first friends here, and the first friend I made on my own. How I felt a connection with her that I hadn't had in a long time. What I didn't write was that our friendship was my first real step to feeling whole again. To believing that my living in LA had merit. That when I finally had more than one good girlfriend I could call up with my problems, meet for an impromptu drink, or just gossip about the day, I ultimately began to feel like the person I'd been when I'd left New York, a girl I hadn't heard from in a while.

I should mention, she is only moving to San Diego. It's not like I'll never see her. It's not even like she'll be in a different time zone, like the friends I left back east and often spend more time playing phone tag with than talking to. But when I left those friends, we'd had nearly ten years together; our roots were and still are deeper than geography. With Laura, we have a great bond, sure, but it is tender and new - we've barely scratched the surface! There's still so much to learn about each other and so many stories to be shared; to lose momentum now feels unfair and unfinished - a mid-season Project Runway castoff whose talent we never fully got to see.

I should also mention, she's moving because she's engaged. And while I'm happy, actually THRILLED for her, of course, it also means I have to allow her to go and spread her wings and start a new life. It's not just that I'm afraid we'll drift apart, but, at this juncture, it's going to be hard to get closer. And she's such an awesome person, and has been such a positive influence on my life, it makes me sad to think this is the closest we'll ever be. I haven't had nearly enough time with her.

Selfish? I know. Overly dramatic? Maybe. But until you've had to make new friends as an adult, with none of the comforts of college or classes to fall back on, you have no idea how rare it is to find someone you truly connect with. I certainly didn't. I took my college and New York friends for granted, never opened myself up much for expanding my circle. But Laura, and my friend Tracy before her, both welcomed me with open arms, and I don't think I can ever express how much it has meant. And even though my social life now is filled with many Lauras - wonderful, fabulous women that I love and am proud to have in my inner circle - I can't help but worry that she's just the pebble that starts the avalanche, and that the rest of my LA life could start sliding downhill.