Welcome home!

The past few days I was doing a lot of traveling.  When the cabbie picked me up to take me to LAX for the start of my travels, he asked me if I wanted him to take the freeways.  I later understood why, as the freeways were a bit of a slog, but everything worked out fine in the end.

This was the first time that I've flown out of and back to LAX as a resident of my new city.  After ten years of an established pattern, including lots of flights in and out of SFO for visits to my boyfriend in LA, I was keenly aware that this was different.  From the trip down (and later back via) the 101, 110, and 105 to get to and from LAX, to seeing downtown both on the way down and back, and the much more expensive cab fare than that to which I've been accustomed, I was noticing the differences each step of the way.

As we landed late last night, I was reminded of how I used to look forward to seeing the lights and familiar sights of the Bay come into view as my plane made its final descent into SFO, particularly as I tried to figure out where we were over the LA region as we got closer and closer to landing.  At some point, I finally figured it out, but by then the fog was beginning to obscure the landmarks and eventually turn the whole scene into a blotchy tableau of yellow light and grey wisps.

My boyfriend left me a voicemail message welcoming me "home" while we were en route, and I listened to it as our plane taxied to the gate.  My initial reaction upon hearing him use the word "home" was a bit of confusion.  Yes, this is where I live, but can I really call it home after only being here a month?  When I don't presently have steady work?  When my circle of nearby friends is a fraction of what I once knew?  When for the first time in my life I'm more than an hour drive from my nearest family (and that was only for college... otherwise either living with or within a mile or two of at least one family member)?

It got me thinking... what does it mean to be home?  Does Los Angeles yet fit that definition for me?

• This is the first time in my life that I've had an apartment that really felt like my home.  I couldn't afford something like this in SF, and I have felt tremendous excitement making this place my home.
• This move is the first time that I've taken such a big risk to be with my boyfriend.  While having been with and loved some great guys in SF, this is the first time I've felt not only "in love" but also "freely loved" (in no small part because of my own maturity).
• This is the first time I have had both this degree of uncertainty about what lies ahead in my future and also lots excitement about encountering it and taking on new challenges as life comes at me.

So, am I home?  Is Los Angeles yet home for me?  It feels new.  I'm doing a lot of adjusting.  I'm trying to figure out where life takes me next.  The traditional definitions don't seem to fit quite as they "should."

...And yet, when I stepped out of the cab last night in front of my place, the warm moist air spun around me, the familiar smell of the air greeted me, the grass shined under the yellow streetlights, my mind finally began to rest after a long journey, and I knew it.  I was home.