I went to Hollywood. It was terrifying.
My grandmother went to Rome once.
She told me that, somehow, she knew every inch of the city without ever having been there prior.
When she saw The Colosseum, she had a particularly strong reaction to it without really being able to identify “what it was” that she was feeling.
I open with that anecdote because what I’m going to write about in this article is not something I even feel comfortable trying to explain.
It is not something I would be able to tell a stranger or even some of my closest friends without receiving an eye-roll or a healthy dose of skepticism.
But I have to write this article. I need to.
I am just returning from what I would have to call my first real trip to Los Angeles, short of previous day-trips where all I encountered was a hotel or conference room.
When one of my best girlfriends picked me up from LAX I was immediately stricken with a feeling of overwhelming sadness.
“It got old.” — was my internal dialogue.
I don’t know how to explain that to you properly, as the reader.
I had never truly seen Los Angeles before and what I felt in that moment was an overwhelming identification with what I remembered about how it used to…
