This past weekend was a big moment for me. I had my housewarming, which involved inviting lots of friends over and commiserating over gnoshes and drinks. I also played host to my mom and her friend, with whom I drove to LA after a quick flight up to San Francisco to surprise my brother for a live jazz recording he was doing.
I was nervous, honestly, to show my mom my place. It wasn't even just my apartment that I was nervous about sharing as much as showing her my new city. At the brunch that my mom hosted a couple months ago on the day that I moved here, one of her friends blurted out how awful LA was and how he just loved SF so much more. Readers of this blog know that I've heard this sentiment a lot, but coming from one of my mom's closest friends, and in the context of my final brunch in San Francisco before I moved to LA, it was more jarring than usual. I'm certain this is a sentiment that mom has heard time and time again, as have I.
As we made the long slog southward down the 5 toward the grapevine, I began to worry. What if mom thought LA sucked? What if the air was horrible and aggravated my mom's friend's breathing issues? What if our visit would just be a slog from one destination to the next?
As it turned out, not only were my worries unfounded, but my mom and her friend had a great time. Mom was ecstatic about being in Hollywood and walking along the Hollywood Walk of Stars. She and her friend loved the view from Griffith Observatory, and mom and I had a lovely walk to my garden and onward to get some herbs and seeds to plant. While our time together was short, we did make the most of it and saw a few different parts of LA - enough to give my mom a sense of a city she admits she'd never visited before (quite smartly, she doesn't include a three-day trip to Disneyland a few years ago as being a visit to LA). Mom and her friend enjoyed the warm sunshine, the walkability of my neighborhood, and the overall accessibility of LA that I have been enjoying myself.
What struck me most, however, was our first evening here after finally finishing our long drive, after mom had briefly seen part of my neighborhood and also walked around my new apartment. She looked up at me and said, "Luke, this is truly your home... Your home." And the restatement of "your home" was inflected in a way that meant "You are home," which gave me pause for a moment. It was a recognition from her that I had not anticipated, and it meant so much to me to know that she could see what I have begun to understand in my couple months here, even as I have struggled to find work, and routine, and friends. That recognition was that I am home. And I am really happy to be here.
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