Now though, is a new day. This quarter for school, my schedule forces me to be in rush hour traffic at least three mornings a week, which is big considering that makes my one-way commute roughly 1 and half to 2 hours. Now, I'm not trying to brag because in reality, it's not something I should even be bragging about. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit a small part of me actually likes being stuck in the traffic; a part that secretly loves being able to finally say, "Were you driving on the 10 freeway this morning at 7:00?" or "Wasn't traffic on the 101 / 210 / 605 / 710 / 105 freeway simply unbearable last night!!??" These complaints are not just about complaining but are about one's identity. Essentially, they say, "This is me and I live in L.A....and I have a right to complain about traffic because I've experienced it!----Have you?" Which is why so many people feel L.A. traffic somehow connects shared experiences with every other person living in the 150 mile radius. And this is why my friend Liz Boltz was right when she commented once that being one of two billion people in L.A. wasn't so bad after all, and on the contrary actually felt oddly really really good (Sorry Liz for not quoting you precisely...but I remember you were the one to say it so I wanted to give you credit).
So call me crazy, but it feels good to belong to a place as cold and big and smoggy and disliked and trafficy as L.A. is. Maybe because it makes me feel special and makes me feel like I live somewhere that has enough problems to pass around the table--wherever that may be--and with whomever I may share a meal. And that, for some reason, feels pretty good.