lost angeles

“There, in that absolutely alabaster landscape, armed with two Bessie Smith records and a typewriter, I began to try to re-create the life that I had first known as a child and from which I had spent so many years in a fight.” - James Baldwin

I read those words in Baldwin's book, "Nobody Knows My Name," and immediately thought of my lifelong fight with my hometown of Los Angeles. I was born under wildly different circumstances than Baldwin, of course, but the sting of his words ran deep in me. I, unlike him, come from a privileged white upper-class footloose and fancy-free environment. But I, like him, always shied away from this born fact. It wasn’t until I left LA, that I realized this attitude stemmed from a deep-rooted act of defiance and by-product of growing up around a bunch of entitled rich kids who also came from famous offspring. I never wanted to associate with "that bunch." I was never inclined to wave that Nepo baby card they used so freely (well, maybe just to get into the clubs!).

I am grateful for those cards, don't get me wrong, especially growing up on the shores of Malibu at a time when Malibu was considered a small beach town as opposed to now being a shee shee poo poo celebrity club with smoothies that cost 40 dollars and a line of pretty young tan girls with perfect complexions waiting to receive theirs (wtf). Back in the day, Malibu only had a few essential unpretentious stores and was inhabited by a community of surfers, hippies, and celebrities that went unnoticed. A time when those annual fierce dry Santa Ana winds rarely caused fires, let alone catastrophic ones. A time when life was full of innocence, playing dress up, making collages out of magazines, going on beach adventures, fishing trips, swim parties, my dad making his famous homemade dip (Lipton onion soup mix with sour cream), sleepovers with my grandparents, bedtime stories and camping out in the backyard. Ah, the good old days. When I go back to visit, in many ways, it feels as if I never left, and everyone from my past seems like they haven't even aged. I might be the only one of my childhood girlfriends who hasn't gotten Botox, but I must admit I am considering doing it now because they look so damn good. Facts.

One thing that has yet to change is the traffic or my feelings towards the bummer-to-bummer road rage-inducing traffic (the ultimate fight of all!) That's one thing I don't like about that city - spending endless hours alone in your car, traveling across town, playing cheesy radio stations, and singing old and new songs embarrassingly out of tune. The times my kids are with me, however, it makes for a good laugh that mommy knows the words to all the inappropriate 90s rap songs and sings them loudly with glee (don't mess with mama and her love for old school hip hop!) We have a mild debate that the old stuff isn't inappropriate, and I explain to them that rap is poetry, and the beat and rhythm hit deep in your soul. We drive past monuments of buildings still full of adolescent memories, and I constantly start going down memory lane with stories beginning with the phrase, "When I was young...". I also tell them of the days when there were no cell phones or GSP (I don't know how we all survived). A time when you had to write down detailed instructions and follow a map to find your way along those crowded streets with one eye on the directions and one eye on the road. A time when if you inevitably got lost, you had to pull over to the nearest gas station to use a damn payphone.

But alas, my point. I had a deep desire to prove myself and my worth (blah blah) and not dare be associated with being an entitled Beverly Hills kid, which, now I see, is just as judgmental! My roots, race, socio-economic placement, and sex are my birthright. I had no choice in the matter - these are the cards I was dealt. I can embrace them or be in a battle because of them. Baldwin's fight was very different than mine, but his words hit me with a searing reminder of the truth. I've written about my childhood before (link) about how I never felt uncomfortable in the fantasy world around me - hopelessly attempting to latch on to some authentic reality in the vapid city of lost angels. How I couldn't shake the sadness, the longing, the desperate desire for plastic perfection that money or fame couldn't fix. I wasn't a confident kid either, so there was that too. I didn't have a handle on myself. I was always grasping for someone or something to help me escape the overwhelming feelings of disconnection instead of just looking inward with the insight that I was the only one that could fix that gaping hole I felt inside. I was too concerned with going to the clubs and dating pretty boys, thinking that their conceited confidence carried the answers - or, more to the point, would fill the void if I conquered them (or whatever). Anyway, all this to say, with age comes wisdom. So, as the years pass, and I have become a visitor to my hometown of Los Angeles, I have grown a deeper appreciation of the city I was constantly sparing with, finally appreciating all that it has to offer and ultimately understanding that the judgment was not with the city itself but with myself growing up inside of it. Also, and more importantly, adolescence is a bitch no matter where you are from!