Will You Be My Person?

The new people at work got their emergency kits today. We keep the kits at work in a handy place for emergencies. Included in the lifeguard-red fanny pack is an emergency card with a place to put allergies and an emergency contact person. I brought mine out to check the expiration date on the packets of water, because I’m a geek like that, and had to take out my card. Then, with reluctant awareness, I realized that the person I had penned as “my person” might not actually come to my rescue anymore. It was an utterly sad realization. Something I didn’t even think twice about when I did it because this person was “my person”. The one person, like Meredith to Christina on Grey’s, I would call if I committed murder and needed help dragging the body across the living room floor to conceal. No questions asked. I am looking for a replacement. Currently taking applications. Anyone want to be my person?

I’m at a crossroads in my life. I need a drastic change to bring me self-awareness that I have been fundamentally missing. I need acute angles to intersect so that I can have a perspective that will clear up the hazy lines that have not been forming anything coherent.

I have looked into picking up my barely there roots and making a move across the country to NYC or DC. Since I moved back across the country for a boy, I thought I’d move across the country once more, this time for me. Where do I go, what do I do?

Do I leave the safe comforts of home to find adventure? Do I even dare? Of course, I dare. My two-week trip to Thailand turned into an 8-month Gap year. What’s going to stop me from doing that again? I did find adventure but I also felt like I fell behind in life. Though I wouldn’t trade the experience for the world, I realized that life didn’t stand still for me. People grew and moved on. That is what I couldn’t stand. If I were to go away for some time, the clock would continue to tick away and I would return to a world that has moved on without me.

Thus began the campaign to keep me in sunny Los Angeles.

After my announcement last week about the contemplation of moving to NYC or DC, I am quite surprised at the levels of adamant disapproval and insistent persuasion.

Trust me, I am well aware of what I would be leaving. My favorite people, loving family, dear friends, hilarious co-workers and friendly strangers, my favorite spot at the turtle pond, Pinkberry medium original with strawberry, mango and kiwi, the warm days and cool nights of living on a desert plain, free music Mondays at the Troubadour, In and Out, a good eclectic variety of food, my fellow dork of a roommate and our shady hell hole of an apartment, summer nights at the Hollywood Bowl, veggie friendly options at restaurants, diversity in culture, landscape and people, the overuse of the word “dude”, the option of going snowboarding and surfing in the same day (haven’t utilized this and probably never will but it’s a nice option), my massage therapist, Angie, plenty of ample space for my future dog to roam and I can go on and on.

So, why do I want to leave?

I sit with a movie script in my hand, laptop on my lap underneath a flowering tree and with each wind gust the leaves rustle and the flowers fall like snow around me onto my computer and accumulating in my lap. It’s moments like these that make me feel like there’s so much more to this world than just this, than what is right in front of me. Somewhere, someone else sits doing the same thing under another flowering tree wishing to be some place else.

One day my desire to keep moving will be sated and I will be able to stand still long enough to grow some roots. For right now, I want to be in many places at once because there’s not enough time to do it all.


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