A possible breakup letter to the city (or person) you love

Dear LA,

To be honest, in the beginning, I didn't see what the fuss was all about. I mean you're cute, but I didn't think you were really my type. I've never been with a city with such consistently clear and sunny blue skies with both oceans and mountains to boast. I never pictured myself with a city like you. Typically, I’ve been with cities far older and more sophisticated than yourself. Ones with properly developed public transit and walkability. Ones I consider “real cities” with a greater population density and faster pace of life. But perhaps the allure of something new spoke to me.

When I finally moved, I was excited. Scared and anxious too, but mostly excited for the possibilities and endless potential we had together.

Things moved a lot slower than I would have liked, but I knew what I was getting myself into. Your high taxes, insane rental market, bumper-to-bumper traffic, impractical public transportation system. I brought my baggage and you had your list of problems too.

The first 6 months with you were brutal. I hated the job I took to come here, had no friends, and was in the worst physical shape of my life. I wondered what I was doing, and questioned if I had made the right decision to leave everything and everyone I knew behind on another coast thousands of miles away. My family did not agree with my decision which is why I did not tell them until my bags were packed and my flight was booked. It was like a secret love affair, me making all the arrangements in private to be with you.

After all, the pairing of us made no logical sense. The timing could not have been worse. We had been in a global pandemic for over a year at that point. Places were just starting to open up at very limited capacity with strict mask and vaccination requirements. Did it really make sense for me to move across the country simply based on feeling?

But that’s love, right? Love makes you do crazy shit.

Eventually, I found spots within you that I came to love. Places that felt familiar and comforting and felt like home. A favorite café, yoga class, dance scene, and hike.

I even learned (well, attempted) to embrace the laissez-faire go-with-the-flow attitude that runs rampant through your residents.

You taught me to go slower. That it’s okay for me to take my time and change my mind and not have it all figured out or know what comes next. You got me to take things day by day and step by step. You taught me to put the pen and paper down and stop planning because nothing between us in our relationship so far has gone according to my plan.

It finally felt like the home I was trying to build for myself, but we were doing this together.

Then winter finally came.

Long, sunny days were traded for grey skies, 5pm sunsets, and a dwindling social life. Life became desolate and barren. I tried to move on by engaging in other communities in an attempt to rebuild what was once a robust social life. Yet, I was met with disappointment after disappointment, unable to find connection with others. My depression came back. Not in full swing but rather crept up slowly, bit by bit, until I found myself unable to leave my apartment for days on end.

Here I am, alone again.

I was excited to show you off to my friends when they came to visit, but at that point, we had fallen out. So my guests got the muted version. I showed them the little gems I had found in you but perhaps felt you had lost your luster.

The aspects of you I once found endearing became endlessly frustrating. The laissez-faire attitude became indicative of unreliable people who live in a bubble. Every moment turned into a documentary for social media rather than an experience in the present. The access to nature I love instead became an annoying, traffic-filled drive I’d rather avoid. The café became too far to frequent and the drinks too sweet. To top it off, paying rent feels like extortion for a room with occasional access to running water.

I’d look at others and wonder how it’s so much easier for them. How it’s so much easier for other people to find joy and love in a new city or country. How it’s so much easier for other people to find community and make meaningful connections. And then I wondered what’s wrong with me, what’s wrong with us, and why is this just not working even after I’ve tried so fucking hard to make this work?

There are days where I believe I could have saved myself the pain if I had just stuck to a plan and never moved here and softened into your salty air and sunsets.

Some nights, I feel the California dream slowly slipping through my fingers, fading into the mist. Maybe that’s just what we were. A fantasy without foundation. Just another possibility of potential without any real substance.

Everyone has a different opinion on how I could handle this moving forward. People on the East Coast encourage me to return and try out new or familiar cities there. People here tell me I haven’t been with you long enough. And I disagree. We’re past the year and a half mark and that’s more than enough time. I could have completed a master’s degree or have had two kids in that timeframe. A year or two is not a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, but it’s a long time to be unhappy and unfulfilled. It's enough time to determine whether or not to keep investing in potential when you have yet to see your returns.

Am I still hopeful for the possibility of what we could be? Perhaps.

Honestly, I want to make this work. I still want to be with you, and I want to stay here.

But if the situation does not improve, I’ll leave. Not because I don’t love you, but because I deserve to be happy and live a joyful and fulfilling life. I am not someone who stays where I’m not wanted, appreciated, or loved. There were several times when I questioned if you even liked me and wanted me to be here with you. I’ve done enough of my own work to know that I can’t change you, I can only change myself. And I have enough self-respect to walk away.

Maybe I should go be with another city that embraces me with open arms and clearly loves me back. Maybe this is our little break for me to leave and come back. Or maybe I should forget about you and spend sleepless nights with another city and leave for a new one every couple of years. Who knows?

I do wonder in the story of my life if you will make it to the end. Or just be a chapter, or maybe just a line, or perhaps not mentioned at all.

No matter what happens to us, I’d like to believe we’ve changed each other for the better. And whether we choose to stay together or not, I hope I'll remember the time we shared fondly. For now.

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Writer's note: This was inspired the depressive episodes I've had over these past 6 months. I was encouraged to make a pro-con list on whether I should remain in Los Angeles or leave. As I was running through the list in my head, thinking about all the different possibilities and ways my life could turn out, I realized that it sounded like a potential breakup. The grief, the longing of wanting to make things work but unsure of the outcome, and the promise of possibility mirrored a breakup of sorts I had gone through.

While I’m certainly more settled this time around, I find myself sharing similar frustrations as I did last year. Feeling incredibly lonely, isolated, unsupported, and wondering when things will get better. When will I have solid relationships that uplift me, support me, and are mutually fulfilling? When will I have a career that reflects that as well? Will I ever belong in a community filled with amazing people who truly understand me? When will I feel better?

Some days there is peace in the solitude. Other times it feels like a prison of my own mental making made with too much mind and time on my hands.

After all, isn't that what we all want? To be loved. To be understood. To feel seen. To belong.