Escaping the Deep South

Part Two: Climbing Into Adulthood

I am from Los Angeles, California, where I attend law school, and where I know no one... After more than twenty years in the city, I have exactly two friends born and raised here, and the rumors that no one in Los Angeles is “from L.A.” are mostly true. Perhaps this is why the city is quick to adopt its most steadfast worshippers. I am from Silver Lake, Santa Monica, the Hollywood Hills, and parts of the San Fernando Valley. And all along the way, the city repeatedly kicks my ass. That’s the thing about Los Angeles: no matter how many wonderful people surround me, the City of Angels absolutely expects its long-termers to survive the inevitable, chronic ass-kickings alone.

I am from Tampa Bay, Florida, and except for the mangroves, the Gulf, and the cost of living, I am tempted to dismiss this short stretch as a bad dream. Defiantly standing in the chaos of the 2000 presidential election, I watch the travesty spawn endlessly destructive, global political nightmares. I suffer Governor Jeb Bush and gushing news stories written each time the man yawns, presumably still the case. The post-traumatic shock from my time in The Sunshine State never goes away, and yet because I leave behind loved ones, part of me is forever attached to that eccentric, heat-infested swamp. That’s the thing about Florida—the state can break my heart over and over again, and yet still, I don’t entirely want to see it fall into the Atlantic Ocean.

I am from Los Angeles, a city that drags me back in for another surreal bout. I am from defending the little guy against music and film industry giants, and I am from enormously successful bosses who smoke crack at their desks and snort cocaine in the back of limousines. I am from endlessly bizarre nightlife, and I am from shacking up in the ‘hood and unfinished art studios. I am from escaping on tour with musicians, and I am from my dreams of grand, romantic love in the Motherland.

I am from Oxford, England, and the life I didn’t know I was leaving there. The city isn’t ferociously hard like Los Angeles, but the feeling of being alone and the need for survival come just the same. Oxford never officially adopts me, and in some ways it closes its doors at the moment I know this is where I am supposed to be. I am from adventures overseas, incredibly high hopes, and lost love that haunts me to this day. That’s the thing about Oxford—the City of Dreaming Spires graciously welcomes redheaded American visitors only for a short time.

I am from Los Angeles, where I begin my third round in “Fight Club”. Tinseltown has an insidious way of tempting back its most devoted followers and can never be convinced to fight fair. I am from bicycling on the beach with my childhood crush, the rock star idol who is even cooler in person. I am from lifelong friends, dating the hottest guy in town, and being banned from a Sunset Strip rock club by the wife of a guitarist I never actually slept with. I am from my beloved haven on top of Laurel Canyon, and all of its famous ghosts, and I am from an addiction to a city I am told is bad for me.

Perhaps I have not yet found the place where I can finally say (peacefully, restfully, ‘once more with feeling’)... I Am From. And that kind of freedom is less comforting than it has ever been.

Lady Emma In Her Land of Wonder

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