This is my last week in Los Angeles after 26 years. I fully expected myself to wistfully pass by every mundane experience holding back tears. This is not the case.
I will be seeing less of some loved ones, and many casual friends will fade into Facebook friends. I will miss the museums and Amoeba records and Secret Headquarters comic book store. I will miss the variety of the LA experience.
But my familiar routines are stale. Every time I go outside, I feel the oppression of living in the city of 4 million. Cheap graffiti an expensive advertising assault my senses every time I step outside. Tower cranes surround me 360°. I sidestep the broken glass from the car break-ins. Every step I take brings in my field of vision more silicone-faced elites stepping daintily around the tents of homeless drug addicts. Every day reminds me how grateful I am to be moving to a city of 43,000, where humanity exists at a quieter speed. All of the above exists in much smaller, digestible quantities.