Edition #149: Some Thoughts on LA

Plus, Molly Young is hacking her way through life, a beautiful prison in Norway, and a delightful Tiny Desk

Aug 24, 2023

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A Note From the Editor

When was the idea planted in my mind? Years ago, probably. It was one of those I shoved into the back of my mind and locked away for some other time: The idea of California. For the first portion of my life, California was as fictional a destination as Neverland. Growing up in Central Florida, I couldn’t fathom a world past New York—Long Island specifically, which was where my parents had lived before having me and the furthest I’d even gone for the first half of my life. California was a fever dream constructed only from the narratives I’d seen on TV—the perfectly tanned, robust social lives of those lucky, monied kids in Laguna Beach. The opulent, drug and alcohol-fueled drama of The OC.

I did, eventually, make it out West. I was 16 and accompanying my mother to a family wedding. In real life, southern California was not a place my mind could quite comprehend. The mansions perched on jagged cliffs, the rows of towering palm trees lining the streets, the absence of humidity. I remember thinking the temperature was so neutral it felt like the weather didn’t exist, a neutrality similar to the waste of water. I got tired every night around 7 p.m. Nothing about it felt familiar, not the burritos or the icy cold ocean or the slow, easy way people spoke.

After that initial visit, I cannot say that I hoped to one day move to California, that I strived for it or dreamt of it—my life was still so small at that point, my understanding of its possibility still so limited. Still, over the years, the idea drifted through my daydreams like an old lover. A few times I got close. An old job had a new project in SF; an old boyfriend lived in LA. In both scenarios, I stayed in situations that were not good for me because of the possibility they carried—they would be good enough reasons to relocate. A job, a relationship. For whatever reason, I could never bring myself to make the decision of my own volition, without a solid reason that wasn’t just “because I feel like it,” or “Why not?”. Something about being so far away from my family; something about the idea of me liking California. Or worse, loving it. Part of me always thought of California like the girl you’re not ready to date until you’re all the way ready, because you know she has real long-term potential. You might want to marry her, in the end. Who’s to say?

Either way, this summer the idea was thrust back into my line of vision. My mother and little sister got into an accident, which ended up revealing some scary underlying health issues. The future was murky and the reality of our mortality glistened in the hot summer sun. And I thought: What am I doing? I was not feeling anywhere close to happy being in New York this summer. I forced it upon myself and felt the city close in on me with each passing day. And so I booked a flight for the following week. I canceled the in-person directing workshop I had signed up for in an attempt to stay rooted in the city all summer long, and off I was off to the still-foreign-to-me streets of Los Angeles.

Ask any New Yorker about LA and 7 out of 10 of them will express similar sentiments: too spread out, ghastly traffic, shallow people, it’s not New York, and did I mention traffic? After hearing this repeated over and over, I landed at LAX with neutral expectations. I’d only visited twice as an adult, and neither time for longer than a few days. After nearly a month, here’s what I found:

LA is not, in fact, New York. But you knew this already. It is far more spread out, but it’s also night and day in terms of energy. People in LA are always comparing a handful of neighborhoods to “Brooklyn” because of their general hipster vibe and walkability—Los Feliz, Echo Park, and Silver Lake. I went out in Echo Park one night with some friends and found it was nothing like anywhere in Brooklyn. Sure, we walked to a few places, but the streets didn’t have the same buzz, the same sense of life. It is far more relaxed in LA—things actually close. You are not bombarded with other people’s energy the moment you step outside; you can avoid it by getting into your car. I didn’t have a car, but still, I got the gist. LA is more separate, New York is more together.
It also isn’t Costa Rica. Another not-surprising fact, but somehow it did catch me off guard. Part of the draw of LA for me is the proximity to the ocean/the ability to surf. I was staying in Venice, a 10-minute bike ride from the beach. Without realizing it, I suppose I expected the vibes to be more like the tiny town I lived in this winter in Costa Rica, which had only one main dirt road, no chain restaurants, and minimal Western conveniences. Riding my bike down Abbot Kinney that first day in Venice, I felt a spike of disappointment—it was not the gritty enclave I’d dreamt of, but an outdoor shopping plaza in the flavor of beach-chic. I rode past Cuyana, Ray Ban, Doc Martens, Cha Cha Matcha. Eventually, I found the corners of Venice more suited to what I was hoping for, but there’s no denying the fact that Los Angeles is still America, and America is still a shopping mall at its core.
Living a healthy lifestyle feels more natural. This is one of my favorite parts about LA, something I’d been craving so deeply after a summer of New York’s excessive culture of drink, eat, and repeat. One visit to a farmers market, one slice of a beautiful heirloom tomato drizzled with olive oil and balsamic, one taste of a fresh, ripe fig and all I wanted to do was eat local produce. Also, one day of exploring various neighborhoods by bike in perfect weather and all I wanted to do was be active. I’d been so unmotivated to be active in the heat this summer in the city and as a result, I felt so slow and out of it. In just a week in LA, I felt more energized than I had in months. My serotonin levels spiked; my confidence was boosted. I know I didn’t look any different, but somehow I felt more beautiful.
The people are supremely friendly. This one was the biggest shock. I was ready for a bunch of shallow, industry-only social climber types based on the feedback I’d gotten about LA beforehand. Instead, I was met with some of the most genuine, positive interactions I’ve had all year. My Uber drivers, the woman working the desk at the yoga studio, the Trader Joe’s clerk, the friends of friends I met. Before going to LA, I made a list of the people I knew there. It was a short list, around 10 people. After two weeks, I felt like I somehow had friends. People ushered me into their plans. Met me with such kindness and grace. My friend Tricia has a theory on this—she says dating in any city is only as good as whatever mental place you’re in while you’re there. I think the same applies to regular, non-romantic soliciting as well. In LA I was suddenly this peppy, glowing orb of light, and my interactions followed suit.
Erewhon is that good. I wanted to hate it if only for my bank account’s sake, but the insanely priced health food store is a whole vibe. I went once a week and tried a few different things, including their soup which came in big, beautiful jars, the sushi sandwich (at the request of my Swiss friend, Laura), and a smoothie (which tasted like this candy was so vile I had to throw it out after a few sips).
And so are the farmer’s markets. Every day of the week there’s a different farmer’s market somewhere around LA—Venice, Santa Monica, Brentwood, Los Feliz, you name it. I only went to a few, but was delighted each time. Fresh cut flowers, beautiful produce, plump eggs, interesting dips. It was the closest I’ve ever come to my all-time favorite French farmer’s market experience in America.
The Venice Canals still hold up. The last time I was in LA, I walked through the Venice Canals and was utterly enchanted. Massive mansions of all shapes and sizes dotted along winding canals with pedestrian walkways. I thought after seeing it once I would be less impressed, but somehow I loved them even more this time. Between the satisfaction of my voyeurism and the sheer variety of the house styles, I could spend hours strolling along back there.
So many windows to look into, so little time
The homeless situation isn’t what I expected. I realize my POV here is specific to being a New Yorker, but I had heard so many horror stories about the homeless situation in LA that I was prepared for the worst. I was also staying in Venice, one of the main areas for homeless encampments around the city. While I did see several homeless people, I didn’t feel unsafe. They were existing, I was existing, and it was perfectly fine for me.
The food is incredible. Lucky for me, I had an unofficial food-loving guide who has lived in and around LA his whole life showing me around. He took me to many of his favorite, tiny hole-in-the-wall spots that I wouldn’t have found on any lists and I was consistently blown away. I had Indonesian food, Korean food, dim sum, and sushi so fresh I wanted to scream. I expected avocados, salads, blah blah blah, but I didn’t expect the food in LA would hold a candle to NYC’s culinary scene.

You can get around via bike. Granted, I was mostly staying around Venice and I don’t commute to work, but I was shocked at how bikeable various neighborhoods are. When I stayed in Silver Lake for a few days, I also biked all around that area using the Metro share bikes—much harder because of the hills, but very beautiful.
Being near the beach really hits. I can no longer deny the fact that I want to live near the ocean. I love the ocean, it makes me happy, it makes me feel more calm and more present. Having easy, quick access to the ocean is a game changer for my mental state.

All that’s to say, I’m giving LA a try for the remainder of this year. I’m excited to see how it feels when things aren’t so novel, which often enables more happiness. I’d also love to hear from you, in the comments or via email: Do you like/love where you live? Why? And if not, where is your favorite place you’ve ever lived It’s a subject matter I can’t get enough of these days

Perhaps You Should…Delight In This Tiny Desk

I’ve always been a fan of Alabama Shakes, but in recent months I’ve become an even bigger fan of the now-defunct band’s former lead singer, Brittany Howard. Her voice is angelic, her solo album is one I can listen to on repeat, and this Tiny Desk is bliss.

Bonus Content (LOL, Right?!)

If we don’t laugh, we’ll cry!

Also, I woke up with this gorgeous song in my head, this made me L-O-L, planning to satisfy my recent, seemingly insatiable hankering for pasta with this recipe, and when people eat dinner in each state.

A Quote From A Book You Should Read:

“To live in a city is to live the life that it was built for, to adapt to its schedule and rhythms, to move within the transit layout made for you during the morning and evening rush, winding through the crowds of fellow commuters. To live in a city is to consume its offerings. To eat at its restaurants. To drink at its bars. To shop at its stores. To pay its sales taxes. To give a dollar to its homeless.

To live in a city is to take part in and to propagate its impossible systems. To wake up. To go to work in the morning. It is also to take pleasure in those systems because, otherwise, who could repeat the same routines, year in, year out?”

-Severance by Ling Ma

This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.

that's so interesting

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