Two months ago, I moved to the BIG APPLE: Los Angeles, California.

I have gotten a plethora of responses to this decision. For your convenience, I have included a brief set of FAQs below:

Didn't you already live in LA?

No. I lived in Orange County. Which is geographically adjacent to Los Angeles but overwhelmingly different in every other way. When I refer to ~the OC~ at open mics in LA, I say “it's like LA but if LA was a suburban wasteland filled with Republicans” because people who go to open mics in LA are often liberal. So far it has received a handful of knowing scoffs and mild giggles, which means it’s a really funny joke.

Don’t you know it’s dangerous there? They’ll attack you because you have blonde hair and blue eyes. I’m sure you’ll be back in Orange County soon enough.

This one, admittedly, was not actually an FAQ, but rather a QAO (Question Asked Once) by my quirky neighbor who has never left Orange County. As you might imagine, this proclamation filled me with excitement and a lust for life! Luckily for me, I have not yet been attacked. If things change, I’ll keep you updated, as I am an avid blogger.

Why?

This question was definitely the most F of the FAQs. And it's a fair one. Objectively, I had a good thing going: I could ride my bike to the beach, enjoyed a lovely community, and was surrounded by friendly neighbors who were deeply concerned about my wellbeing (see Q above). There was no explicit reason for me to move.

Except that I wanted to.

Living in Orange County had never been an active choice but rather a grasp at stability in the throes of unprecedented global chaos. It was where I happened to be when the world shut down and with no inertial forces strong enough to pull me elsewhere, I simply stayed put, opting for the relative comfort of the status quo.

In the face of any decision, whether it be "what to order at this restaurant with only six things on the menu" or "what it is I plan to do with my one wild and precious life", my default reaction is to arbitrarily classify any potential outcomes or related factors as "good" or "bad." This exercise allows me to make the "right" choice and and minimize the guilt I feel for taking up space in the world. Which option is most convenient for those around me? Costs the least money? Is least harmful for the environment?

My mind endlessly recalculates and reconsiders every aspect of the most inconsequential situations, desperately attempting to justify one choice or the other in pursuit of the sanctuary of "should." Because doing what I "should" do, rather than what I might want to do, alleviates the anxiety that comes with potential disruption and allows me to tolerate my own existence.

These cycles of arbitrary morality create an illusion of structure on which to stand in otherwise-unmanageable realms of ambiguity. Though this psychological gymnastics may create a facade of safety, it ultimately results in anxious spirals of paralyzing indecision over the most trivial of matters. (I wasn't particularly good at physical gymnastics, so I'm not sure why I thought this variety would be any more fruitful.)

Immersed in this manufactured construct of "should," I have normalized the idea that having needs (let alone wants) is superfluous and that acknowledging (let alone pursuing) such things is frivolous and weak. I have taken pride in the illusion that evading these human fundamentals somehow makes me unique and, therefore, worthy. (Worthy of what? Who's to say ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

For many people, the opportunity to make decisions based completely on internal desires would be a dream but for me, situations with no "right answer" prove stressful and overwhelming. Coming to terms with the fact that I did not want to live in Orange County took multiple years because it meant I had to figure out what I did want. And act on it.

However, once I spoke the idea out loud, there was no turning back. No longer constrained by my own fear, I allowed myself to make a decision based on interest and desire rather than obligation and convenience. The walls of "should" that had been keeping me safe had also been keeping me captive and as they began to fall to the ground, I became giddy imagining the story I could write on this blank canvas I finally had the courage to acknowledge.

So, just like the heroine described in RL Grime's 2018 hit, I moved to LA. Not because I had a job or a spouse or a specific plan, but simply because I thought I might want to. And it turns out, I did.