When I couldn’t wait to fly back to LA
“As any native New Yorker will tell you, you are conditioned to hate LA right at birth. Well, every city that isn't New York, but, for some reason, there is a special [level] of hatred for LA. Despite living in Boston for college and moving around the Bay Area for several years, I dreamed of being the prodigal NY son, triumphantly returning to the land of great pizza, bagels, and Italian delis. Never in a million years did I ever think I would be going on my eighth year in LA, which I proudly call home.
"The exact moment that LA felt like home was during a particularly harrowing week at work. It had been my second year (fourth in total) back in LA, and, as a consultant, I regularly traveled out of the city for work on Monday mornings and returned on Thursday early evenings. For the fourth week in a row, maintenance issues on the second leg of my return flight again threatened to keep me from returning to my regular LA routine, which included Thursday night dinner with a friend near LAX, a Friday night out exploring some new area of LA, a run along the beach path with my Saturday morning running club, a dinner with close friends on Saturday night, and then some errands on Sunday before heading back out early Monday morning. Whatever god that controls airplane departures smiled upon me that evening and we left only 15 minutes late. Perhaps it was the anticipation of wanting to get back, but, on that return flight, I found myself reflecting on how happy I was with the community and life I built in LA.” -- Chris, 37