Something Found, Something Lost

I am officially an east coaster again.

Earlier today I noticed a marked difference between the two sides of this country in the form of a song.  Coconut Records (Jason Schwartzman's one man group btw) has a song called "West Coast". There is so much popular culture produced -- be it music, movies or folklore -- speaking to the magical power of the left coast. But have you ever tried to find the parity product that represents the east coast? No, you haven't.

Because it doesn't exist.

The east coast has a steady stream of rappers and the occasional rocker that speaks to their habitat. But listen closer- the description usually depicts a struggle -- a hard knock life, if you'll allow me -- that is lived through rather than enjoyed.

So while I've only been right coasting for a week, I can't help but be semi-influenced by the propaganda that exists in popular paradigms. The west coast is, and personally was, a place of perfect groundhog days, filled with sunshine, beachfront and good times.

But don't count the east out of the races. I love the east coast. It made me who I was. It shaped my growth, housed my family and delivered unto me the best friends I've ever had. Had I grown up in LA, I think I'd be less of a person for it. For too many reasons to write, living through the hardships of the east vs. the idilic existence of the west gave me perspective and compassion. I know was it is to hurt. And I equally know what it is to flourish.


Yet being back leaves me listless. It rustles up an assortment of old feelings that have otherwise lain dormant in my four + years of exile. I remember the bittersweet sentiment that coats every memory, both previous and future. I remember old relationships, romantic and other, that defined my understanding of the everyday. And to be honest it's hard. It hurts. The west relieved me of pain. The east promises to remind me of it everywhere.

I don't know.

Life continues. I'm no bigger player in it here as I was previously. But it's a new set of rules. The home team. I've been playing an away game. May the emotions that run so deep here not drown me, that's all I ask.

The Move Homeward

The impending move back east has me anxious. I can't sleep. I can't eat properly. I feel like I'm transgressing through a luke-warm purgatory where I'm neither here nor there. And it's the worst. It's like the first week back at school when the teacher is passing out the syllabus and explaining what you'll be covering and everyones deciding if this is going to be a fun class or if it's just a bunch of shit-pants losers where no spark of excitement will emerge. Fuck that period- just jump right in and teach me about rocks and fauna (drawing from a particularly painful earth science memory).

Yet I'm hopeful. This move is surely a new adventure. But "starting again" in a new city is always a challenge that too gets easier with time.

I miss the life and friends that I've built in California already. Los Angeles has been an amazing experience- one that started shaky, got off to a slow start but hit its stride beautifully, delivering a great neighborhood, fun jobs, exciting times and an amazing group of friends. For one of the first times I felt surrounded by people who had a sincere energy to create, to make, to do. So many smart, driven people. That's not to discount times past but LA delivered something different. It also allowed me to become more comfortable with myself than ever before. I felt at ease in my skin and in new situations. I felt funnier and smarter and happier.

I suppose I hope to carry that feeling across the country, to continue living what can only be considered a dream, a charmed existence.

Many adventures lay ahead, some business-minded that require my dedication and stalwartness and others that include new people, new places, new feelings.

Hell, it's going to be great.

The Moth

I am writing from the toilet.

There is a moth that has now been in my bathroom for at least two days. It may have been here longer but I cannot say for sure. Since I first acknowledged its presence, it has remained in the same place: In a corner of the shower, just below the ceiling. It's not particularly light there nor is there any type of food. Yet there it stays, presumably sedentary in the hours that I am not blogging from my toilet vantage.

But as I sit here, pants pulled to not the ankles but just below the knee- why go all the way to the ankle, it's too low, it's unnecessary- I feel a wave of mortality. Here is this creature that for no seeable reason chooses to live in a corner of my ho hum bathroom, content with never flinching or even facing a new direction.

In this bug, I can see part of me. I can see parts of everyone. I see so many lives that are spent in a manner far too similar to this bug. Unchanging. Uninspired. It makes me want to cry.

Why do we sit in the corner, facing what we know, or what we've chosen to accept, waiting for the day that we die? I am no bug scientist, but I'm pretty sure the average life span of a moth is what- a week? Two weeks tops? The moth in question has squandered a significant chunk of its waking days blending into a vanilla tile. And I hate the moth for that.

The time is now, moth! The moment is upon you. I know you're just a bug and likely won't read this, but you don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. And while you can't know this in your tiny gross brain, there might not be a tomorrow. I might kill you with a towel. But what I really want to say to you is this: leave the corner. Take a chance. Fly towards the light. You'll soon be dead because of me or because of your comically-short natural life cycle. You likely don't care about life experiences because you don't have a Facebook profile to share them on, but as someone who does I implore you to venture. A life staring at the wall is hardly a life at all.

Celebrity Morph by MyHeritage

MyHeritage: Family tree - Genealogy - Celebrity