Eternal Return in L.A.

Like any big city, Los Angeles is full of surprises and odd corners. In a way, I think that's what drew me to big city life, the need for a sense of possibilities that don't exist in a smaller town. I remember a time when I would spend my Friday evenings endlessly driving around Lexington, mostly in the suburbs, with the radio on. I think what I was really looking for was something I hadn't seen before, a street I had never driven down, a house I had never seen, something, anything that seemed new and unexpected.

There can be something comforting in the familiar, but too much of it leads to boredom. Somebody said to me once that after moving to a much smaller town, she realized you didn't really need to have a million choices of where to shop for groceries or go to get coffee, but I don't agree. I think that some people do need variety to thrive and that most of those people are in cities. I remember coming out of a cafe in Paris once and thinking that part of that city's magic was the sense that you never knew what you might find around any corner; the air itself was alive with potentialities.

It's true that different cities have different personalities and offer varying degrees of this sense of openness. I have been in some cities that, while offering a variety of things to do and places to go, somehow seemed like larger versions of smaller towns. There was something quotidian about them, and this isn't a put-down, just an observation. Los Angeles isn't like that. While there is a certain quality that lets you know, yes, this is definitely L.A., no matter where you are, neighborhoods do offer distinctly different faces, and I've always had the sense that it would be important to figure out which part of town you want to be in.

There is a practical aspect to this, of course, because most people have to consider such things as commute distances and school districts and may not end up living precisely where they would go if they consulted their own wishes. I was once having lunch in a Silver Lake cafe on what may have been my first visit to that neighborhood when I noticed a young man at a nearby table observing me closely. It was not an unfriendly or threatening look but more of a keenly observing one, and combined with the fact that he had a notebook, gave me the idea that he might be a writer (I've been known to jot down notes about random people and events in just that same way).

I may be wrong, but my take on it was that I somehow looked out of place in that particular setting, and that that was what caught his eye: "Ah, I wonder what this very conventional, Middle America woman is doing in this hipster Silver Lake hangout so far off the tourist track? What possible combination of events could have brought her here? This could be a good story." (I made a mental note at that time that toning down the Lands End aspect of my wardrobe might be something to consider.) It was the first time I had a sense of myself as possibly looking exotic to someone else, and while amusing (if I was right about what was happening), it wasn't exactly pleasing. I'm not a hipster, but I'm not a soccer mom either. (And what is that, anyway?)

I wasn't drawn to Santa Monica in my first visits there, but I gradually ended up believing that that was probably where I would gravitate if I moved to L.A. It seemed clean and safe, if perhaps a little bland and a touch snobby. But then I had a bad experience on my last visit there (a hotel door that didn't lock properly, stuck in a remote corner of the property, so alarming that I immediately went down to the desk and told them I'd changed my mind about staying there). While it was all very unsettling (and mysterious), perhaps it was good that it happened. It made me realize that maybe Santa Monica wasn't the place for me, if something as simple as a securely locked door was so difficult to come by there.

When I first visited some of the neighborhoods east of the 405, I found them to be a bit edgy for my taste. I couldn't imagine feeling safe there. Now I find them more appealing and less threatening than they once seemed. Have the neighborhoods changed, or have I? Maybe it's some of both. Even Los Feliz, which three weeks ago seemed rather grubby, revealed itself to have possibilities when I explored it more thoroughly. Sometimes going a few blocks in a different direction makes a difference. I find that I'm drawn neither to the hipster hangouts nor the yuppie ones. I look for something that seems only to be trying to be itself, which really means a lack of trying, if you think about it.

Despite the pressure of adjusting to a new place and achieving secure footing professionally and financially, I still see the soul of Los Angeles peeking out at me at certain times and places, usually unlooked for: the slant of light through the windows in Union Station; a halting conversation in Spanish in which I nevertheless managed to convey my meaning (I think); a piece of art in a Metro station illustrating the constellations; a beautifully crafted latte in an unpretentious setting; a smile from a stranger; an early evening walk around the lotus pond in Echo Park, a public space that actually seems to live up to its function; a dignified older building suddenly glimpsed in a quiet corner at the end of a walkway; a taco at Grand Central Market (I plead guilty to getting the mild sauce); a doorman dressed as an American soldier, circa World War II, materializing suddenly at the door of the Vista Theatre; a sudden urge to tap dance (if I only knew how) while waiting for a train; branches alive with brightly colored blooms hanging over a wall; and a mural on the side of a building, studied while waiting for a traffic light, hitting me with the force of a dream, a visual poem that I could not unravel but that spoke to me deeply.

While it's obviously a very modern and trend-setting city, Los Angeles seems, at the same time, to be somehow very old to me. Its history is alive in its place names and in many of its public places, and its function as the backdrop to countless Hollywood movies and television shows means that once you arrive here, you find that it already seems strangely familiar, since the reality corresponds to a city already existing in your imagination. The predominance of Googie and other architecture from the mid-20th century also resonates with me personally, since it hearkens back to my early childhood when that style was much in evidence. There are moments when I feel that I've fallen into a time machine, and past, present, and future are all on display at once.

While being very "of the moment," Los Angeles also reveals a layer of mythic time that runs through everything else and seems tied to something much older than even recorded history. You don't need to look any further than the fossils at the La Brea tar pits if you want physical evidence of this, but it's also apparent in the creative life of the city, in the murals and the public art, in the films that are one of the city's signature products--both creating and reflecting the myths and dreams of our culture--and in the infrastructure itself. I'm surprised to find myself concluding that Los Angeles is similar to Boston in this characteristic of past and present being very visibly on display side by side. I've always considered Boston to be an extremely graceful example of this historical layering, whereas in L.A. it seems more chaotic. Nevertheless, though it may surprise you to hear me say this, L.A. seems in many ways to be the more ancient city of the two.

Urban Adventures

Last Saturday was the most vacation-like day I've had out here, even though it was spent in pursuit of jobs. After getting off the interstate and trying an alternate route that let me get a better feel for the layout of things, I visited a suburban library and took the Metro into downtown L.A. After checking out the main library (quite an experience in itself, even with non-functioning escalators), I stopped at Starbucks for an iced coffee. I was struck by how decidedly urban that whole experience was, from the bunker-like entryway, to the window onto a busy street, to the attenuated seating area under exposed pipes, as if the coffeehouse had been built into the remains of an excavated basement or subway station.

Oddly enough, I found my coffee break and window seat view to be quite calming. In part, I think it was because that particular Starbucks seemed to be built for foot traffic, not loungers, and there were hardly any other customers seated nearby. It was enjoyable, for once, to be able to calmly sip a drink and watch the world go by without listening to a lot of chatter. I was able to let my mind roam and enjoy the passing scene--who would have thought downtown L.A. could be so relaxing? I took a quick walk down Broadway and back to Pershing Square and was amazed at how much less intimidating it all seemed than it had the first time I was there. I wouldn't say I'm ready to move downtown, but I enjoyed taking it all in.

There was a street festival in full swing next to Olvera Street, with some very lively folk music providing a soundtrack to all the activity near Union Station. It was more stimulation than I would have had in six months at home and was somehow both bracing and restful at the same time. Once I got back to my car, I did have trouble finding my way out of the parking structure, but I'm getting used to the fact that I sometimes drive around in circles or go the long way around. On the other hand, I had to congratulate myself for figuring out I was going the wrong way after someone gave me directions; I was looking at mountains, so I knew I needed to turn around. Orienteering might not be my thing, but I have a basic sense of direction.

A few days later I had a less successful urban experience in Los Feliz, which I found to be too crowded and urban for my taste. How it could out-urban downtown is a little difficult to explain, but perhaps it has to do with the commercial density of the area and the (to me) uneasy mixture of residential, retail, and business, all jumbled together in a jarring sort of way. The post office parking lot was hard to get into, many of the houses had bars on the windows, and the bathroom of the neighborhood branch library didn't smell good. I wanted to like it but didn't.

Some of the things I've liked and disliked have surprised me, but I still don't know where I'll end up settling in. Where you find a job dictates the way everything else falls into place, and that hasn't happened yet. I suppose it would have been surprising if I had gotten a job right away, but I really was hoping for a fairly quick turn-around, especially after signing up with four employment agencies and having applications in before I even got here. I sometimes feel I am hitting my head on an invisible wall, a feeling I was already familiar with before I got here, thanks. It should not be this difficult to become employed. Right now I feel I am a bit off the grid, and while you don't mind that for a little while, you don't feel that you're really a part of the community until you have a job and a regular apartment.

However, I am still applying and hoping to get my foot in the door somewhere before long, though I'm not adverse to going somewhere else if an opportunity opens up. When I worked for employment agencies before, they just sent me around to places, and I stayed busy all the time. Once one assignment ended, I went to another. Here, it's almost as if you're applying for security clearance instead of a temporary office job. After several possibilities that looked like good opportunities fell away to nothing this week, I applied for a job in Ohio. Ouch, take that, L.A.! If it doesn't work out, I don't have to stay. It took so much work to get here that I'd hate to turn around and leave but . . . you have to eat and have a place to hang your hat. If money grows on trees, I've yet to see any sign of it.

Meanwhile, the fleeting vacation feelings that come and go are welcome, but not something I'm going to get used to. People are generally friendly here, the weather is pleasant, and I'm finding my way around. Moving across country isn't child's play, though, and I didn't do it to put my life on hold for an undetermined amount of time. Moving in with a friend, which I had hoped to avoid, is beginning to look like a real possibility. And, darn it, the blister I got on my hand from all that driving was just starting to heal.