You are here: Deal with it
- Share via
FOR New Englanders, politics is blood sport, a way of life. Policy discourse is a constant. Everyone talks about government leaders, laws and views -- at dinner, at the bus stop, at the hair salon. Chances are your local bus driver has a strong opinion.
And as a Boston native living in Los Angeles for more than two years now, I still can’t get used to the fact that many folks here don’t invest in their political beliefs -- assuming they have political beliefs. I’d been so caught up in life in L.A. that in September I had completely forgotten to check the primary election results for the Massachusetts gubernatorial run. That rattled me.
A transplant’s emotional tug-of-war -- the euphoria of new beginnings versus the comfort of something familiar -- plays itself out in the dating ritual. Instinctively we matriculate to refugees with similar roots, all the while struggling to negotiate our new environment and sidestepping the nagging feeling that we might be losing our old identities.
Yes, part of me is fearful of losing my old self to the new life that I’ve created here. Despite my loyal devotion to the Boston Red Sox and frequent trips home, my former persona is quietly fading. My new self intensifies in subtle ways as I adapt to my temporary home in L.A.
It’s part of this region’s “third culture.” Much of the population is derived of individuals who come to L.A. for a specific purpose but still feel a strong connection to their home turf. The city is full of folks like me -- unmarried, focused on their careers and homesick. We live here, but continue to identify with another geographic region. We root for the sports teams we grew up with, hold an appetite for news from home and do little to curb our funny accents.
Recently I went to a mixer in Malibu sponsored by French Tuesdays, an event originally started as a network for French expatriates in the area. It’s now expanded so that anybody is welcome (as long as you get on the list). I wandered through the crowd, eavesdropping on conversations in French and English, and was struck by the notion of all of the people who have uprooted a familiar life to start a new one in Los Angeles.
For new arrivals feeling the L.A. blues, venues such as this provide comfort. Sonny McClean’s, a “Bahston” sports bar on Wilshire, is a salvation for New Englanders like me who are hoping to catch a Patriots game. I frequented Sonny McClean’s an awful lot when I first arrived. Just overhearing a patron order a beer -- pronounced beeee-ah, two syllables -- was like a symphony.
IT’S only natural to think there might be a potential mate holding one of those frosty mugs, someone who has the same value system and appreciates the same things in life. Or maybe somebody who might want to return home someday.
Yet forging into strange and uncharted territories is exciting. After all, I might fall in love with a person from another part of the world. Living with the uncertainty of it all is a skill.
In the meantime, I’m learning to appreciate the California lifestyle. I never thought I could call a place like L.A. home, but I guess that’s what it is. For now.
