I’m in transition. The transition from old to new. A profound death hasn’t pushed me to try something new and leave my comfort zone. Instead, living during a pandemic has opened up a possibility I didn’t think was there.
I asked myself, “Where do I want to live?” during the pandemic last year and my gut response said, “not here.” And by here, I meant my Oakland apartment. With self-reflection and quiet, I dug around and realized I’d always wanted to live in Los Angeles—but was daunted by the lack of things.
A driver’s license. A fear of inaccessibility. Hollywood. And everything the former entails.
And by everything, I mean, the writing opportunities available in the City of Angels (which apparently I heard isn’t what you should call it?).
While the pay was the most I’d ever made in my adult life, I was miserable for a long time there.
Could I write for television and film? In another lifetime (read: my twenties), I worked in film production, because I was obsessed with the visual medium. I was always that kid curious about learning how things worked. Like the time I had my first desktop computer and kept deleting files I shouldn’t have because I didn’t know any better. I almost pursued my degree in computer science but when I learned I needed to enroll in math classes, I opted out real quick. Instead, I leaned into my degree in communication studies, which allowed me to analyze film and TV for fun and for class. When I worked in film production, I learned the behind-the-scenes aspect of cinema: the camera, the lighting, the craft service, and all the people that came together to create a five-minute scene.
Ultimately, I realized my heart had always been in line with the written word, not the business side of the film.
In 2012, I arrived in the Bay Area, freshly thirty, with no job, no place to live, and not a huge group of friends. My first stop in San Francisco was the neighborhood of Bernal Heights.
I moved into a home of seven strangers (or more, by the time I left but who’s counting anyway?), not picked to live in a house, working with one of them, didn’t have our lives taped, and we surely stopped being polite at some point.
When the pandemic hit, like everyone else, I reflected on my life priorities and learned, dang, I should try living in Los Angeles.
We also eventually voted someone off the “island” because they weren’t pulling their weight. It was my first time living with strangers—way too many if I’m being frank. And living above a bar and a restaurant (La Santaneca will always have my heart for the best pupusas I’ve ever eaten; sorry, Balompie, we weren’t a match), and living in California. I was wearing my rose-colored glasses the first year in the Bay; I couldn’t believe I was living in this Mediterranean climate with the view of those gorgeous mountains and the crisp air.
I didn’t mind Karl the Fog, who now goes by Karla, at all.
The year I lived in San Francisco before moving to Oakland—the original location I wanted to land but had no luck the first time—I gave it my all to meet folks and network in all the passions that filled me: writing and film. I volunteered at film festivals like CAAMfest, the San Francisco International Film Festival, and Frameline along with Litquake, and even volunteering at SFMOMA before they closed for renovations.
I also tutored at Reading Partners because I wanted to find a way to include reading and/or writing in my life in any way possible. By the time I moved to Oakland and wanted to volunteer for 826 Valencia, the commute proved inconvenient, so I didn’t pursue it and really wish I had.
I obtained a certificate in writing from UC Berkeley Extension too, so I was on my way to becoming a stronger writer, with every class I took.
Oakland became an area I appreciated due to its inviting nature. I’d never thought I’d meet so many long-time local residents in this popular city that I had called home for eight years. I understood and appreciated the deep love the residents had for its city and the people living in it from the politicians to the restaurant owners; so much affection. I hadn’t felt that move love from a city like my native New York City since post 9/11. Like, Oakland is a vibe that is indescribable.
My professional life didn’t have a through-line, because I only worked at places for the paycheck. I liked the perks of benefits, location (downtown SF had everything I needed), happy hours with co-workers but wasn’t pursuing my love of writing. I temp-ed my way to full-time jobs and the last job I had in Oakland was a startup company.
I observed that landing a job at a startup was apparently the goal for transplants and some, not all, Bay Area natives. While the pay was the most I’d ever made in my adult life, I was miserable for a long time there. This fake diversity and inclusion conversation forced me to look inside and think about my future, at this company and beyond. After an amicable departing of sorts, I had room to breathe and found out how I wanted to live my life truthfully and on my own terms.
I know the Bay Area has its own vibe too and I tried so hard to catch it.
While I was unfulfilled at work, I continued to incorporate writing into my life outside of work. I applied to two MFA programs in the Bay and was accepted at both. Stunned, I chose the university that would allow me to work in the morning and take classes at night. I obtained a certificate in writing from UC Berkeley Extension too, so I was on my way to becoming a stronger writer, with every class I took. In my program, I left with a network of friends that I’d be proud to name as my writing tribe for years to come.
During that time, we met together, championed each other, and provided helpful feedback on our writing. I saw the possibility of readings (which we curated and created ourselves) and meeting more folks in the literary scene. I really thought I would settle down in one of the coolest (literally, with fall and spring weather year-round, which is changing due to climate change) cities on the west coast. When the pandemic hit, like everyone else, I reflected on my life priorities and learned, dang, I should try living in Los Angeles.
I had visited Los Angeles once in 2016 for AWP (Association for Writing and Writing Programs). I like to describe this conference as Comic-Con for word nerds but sadly, no cosplay. Essentially, this was the only time I had met LA, and that one time left an impression. As a New Yorker (till I die), I missed that thriving, hustling, and bustling energy. While comparisons aren’t helpful, I couldn’t help but latch onto that vibration missing for me in the Bay Area. I know the Bay Area has its own vibe too and I tried so hard to catch it. I will never forget the town that embraced me and allowed me to grow up. Albeit my experience living in the Bay, I knew in my heart, it was time to go.
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And go I did. Sitting in my new Los Angeles apartment complex with a community pool, I’m still amazed I made that leap and manifested this move for more opportunities. I don’t know if I’ll “make it” in Hollywood or whatever that means, but I know I have room to step into my next chapter here.
