I recently left LA after 7 years there and returned to Chicago. LA wasn’t kind to me. I suffered an aortic dissection in 2012 (saved by the photogenic surgeons at UCLA). The effects of that pushed me from my career. The following year, my best friend committed suicide. Then I spent 3 years fighting for disability.

I left LA in my Volvo and returned to Chicago. I can’t describe the feelings of disorientation and the sadness that attacked me upon my arrival here.

I love Chicago. I hated LA. But I miss LA like crazy. I feel an immense pride that I know my way around this miasma of humanity, that I know every freeway from Palm Springs to San Diego and up to Santa Barbara. I miss my earthquake kit. I miss the distinct seasons (yes they are distinct). I miss the potential for traumatic natural events…fires, floods, droughts, mud, quakes. And I miss the dramatic topography that creates these things. I miss the astounding number of preternaturally pretty people. I miss saying I live in LA to people who think that’s something to be ashamed of. I miss criticizing LA and I miss defending LA (especially to San Franciscans, who know deep down that LA is the Pacific center of gravity).

I love/hate LA. I always will.