Dear Mom,

Will I ever be satisfied?

Is my constant desire for change a result of my ambition or my inability to be happy? Why am I always looking for the next best thing?

When Jeremy and I moved to Los Angeles in 2011 we fell in love with the city. We quickly decided that we wanted to begin our life there and to raise our future kids there. As you may recall, we fought to have our wedding there. It was a special city to us. It wasn’t always easy, but it was ours. I think somewhere deep inside we thrived on the level of difficulty.

When we moved to Los Angeles we had less that a week to find a car and an apartment. We only had about $3000 to spend on all of that. We found a shitty 1996 Jeep Grand Cherokee; pretty much the worst car ever made, and bought it from a seemingly nice man in Glendale.

We then found the perfect studio apartment in what was advertised as Koreatown, a neighborhood that we heard was very popular.

It wasn’t really Koreatown; it was Pico Union, which actually gave us a little more street credit. But you weren’t in love with the idea of your baby living in such close proximity to the Salvadoran gang MS-13. Honestly, I think they kept the neighborhood safe.

6 months after we settled in, the Jeep broke down. We didn’t even have enough money to find out what was wrong with it. I sold it to a guy I knew who worked on cars. He gave me $200 for it and I was more than happy for the exchange.

With no car, we commuted full time on bikes. Soon after this change, Jeremy got his brand new bike stolen while visiting me at work.

Three weeks later, I made a rookie mistake while riding down Olympic Blvd resulting in my 20mpr dive into the sidewalk.

Then Jeremy got hit by a car on another new bike.

Luckily, we were both OK. No major injuries, which was really good considering that we didn’t have health insurance. Although, Jeremy’s shoulder hasn’t ever really been the same.

These weren’t easy times for us. But we came out of this stronger and grateful for our ability to bounce back.

Our 4.5 years in Los Angeles weren’t all bad. We made a home there. We, eventually, found jobs that we loved with coworkers we adored and had friends to hang out with for all of the major holidays, like Super Bowl and Cinco de Mayo. We had restaurants and bars we frequented. Oh how I miss the Korean Soon Tofu place up the street from our apartment. We had our routes to anywhere and our grocery stores of choice. I went to the farmer’s market in Silver Lake every Saturday morning for over 3 years. Rain or shine. Ha! That’s funny. It never rained.

I miss my studio apartment. Even with its cockroach and cricket problem. I miss the neighborhood that I couldn’t walk around in alone once the sun went down. I miss the dry heat and the no air conditioning. I miss the 45-minute bus ride, with no traffic, to the doctor. I miss the annoying “Hollywood Types”. I miss commuting on a bike up hill. I miss commuting on a bike during the Santa Ana winds and dodging palm fronds. I miss the unmistakable and inevitable stench of the homeless. The stepping over human excrements and the art of not looking a crazy person in the eye while walking by them. I miss the location of my wedding, even if I would never step foot in there again. I miss the security guards that greeted me every morning on my way into work. I miss the fresh local produce all year round. I very much miss the fruit vendors on the streets. Oh, how I crave that chili and lime doused mango and coconut. 

I could go on forever about the things I loved about LA; the bottom line is that we were comfortable there. We had our routines and we enjoyed our lives. So why the hell did I decide it was time to leave? I was so happy with my job and my friends and my day-to-day life. Why did I think life would get better somehow by moving?

When I talk to people about why I moved I always end up making excuses. I wanted to be closer to family. It’s less expensive in Chicago (but honestly not by much). My apartment is bigger and less bug infested here. My commute is easier. It’s easier to get to the hospital. It’s easier to get to the airport. It’s easier for people to come visit us. My conclusion is that Chicago is an easier city to live in than LA. But did I really uproot my entire life to move to a completely different city just because it’s easier? If I wanted an easy life I wouldn’t have majored in Creative Writing and I most certainly wouldn’t have racked up a $75,000 bill in student loan debt to go to Film School.

Am I addicted to change? Do I need to do something completely different with my life every couple of years? Am I simply impossible to please? What’s the difference between having ambition and having commitment issues? Am I one of those geniuses who refuse to spend time doing something that makes them unhappy? Or am I a confused, irrational child wanting to constantly get her way?

I’m not sure I can answer all of this now, but I think it might be healthiest for me to figure out a way to enjoy my time here. I do love a lot about this city and the new life I’m starting. But, I think I need to admit to myself that all roads will lead me back to California. Those mountains are calling to me and I won’t be able to ignore it forever.

For now, I will be as happy as I can possibly be. In less than two months I’ll get to meet my baby. It’s not mountains, but I hear becoming a mother is pretty fantastic.

I love you, Mom.

Rachel