live on the west coast

I’ve got orders to California. I think that counts.

I up and left, Denver is my new home. Courage despite a new world. Strength flows from the adrenline of the months of anticipation. Unconcious planning, packing, driving. I was made for the mountains.

I’m in Los Angeles in my new apartment that I share with my boyfriend. Next: finding a job.

there is no snow here, that alone is worth it!

Well, I’m spending spring break in Los Angeles right now. Does this sort of count as living here for now?

Most of my life I have lived on the East Coat. I LOVE it here. I love the ocean. I hate the tourists. I love the fact that we are near most of the major medical centers in the US. If we need help—it’s just a helicopter ride away. I love all the history. Washington D.C, Williamsburg, Gettysburg, Philidelphia, Yorktown and Jamestown. I love the fabulous muesuems. I love living three hours from DC, two and a half from Philly, six from NYC, two from Virginia Beach. I love the fact that my family is rooted here. I love the little islands off the bay and their cute backwards customs. I love the fact I know so much about it and I will be able to tell the fables and legends to my children. I love the fact we are all uptight and overworked.

Yet—I still want to go live on the West Coast. I want to experience life a little more laid back and low-key. I want to know what’s it’s like to celebrate Christmas in a tank-top. I want to see how inferior I feel when living in a land of “beautiful people”. I want to see the sunsets over the Pacific ocean. I want to know what it’s like to have a west coast attitude. You know, not be east coast bitch for awhile, just a chill west coaster.