Written: June 5, 2011
The hour flight to Paris seems (from my 15B aisle seat) to be a very nice flight… It is a much nicer plane than my L.A. to Zurich flight and there is no one seated beside me. Although the chair is narrow, it is very comfortable. We are about to take off. Rolling down the freeway. After rent is taken care of and I am alone, I know that I will breathe easier. I am sending out wonderful thoughts that this will all work out for the best. Take off! Up!
I can feel a sense of the unknown and uncertainty fill me as we fly through the Suisse air; however, I am oddly calm. Part of me is so quiet, but not necessarily sad or melancholy. I feel as if I am waiting. Simply waiting. Waiting for when my life in Paris truly starts… past the initial honeymoon phase.
I have left Los Angeles, like a man. It is as if I have left a neglectful lover, whom I do love – very much – but I know is wrong for me. Like a man, L.A. has good points and bad points. Pros and cons. There are beautiful aspects to it and mannerisms I hate. I now recall The Decemberist’s “Los Angeles, I’m Yours!” which is truly a crude love letter to the city.
Beautiful white clouds outside my window. I have to believe that everything will be alright and that if there is trouble, I can manage it. This is honestly a new beginning. I honestly am very tired. There is so much I want to accomplish in Paris. Just simply in regards to my frame of mind. HEALTHY! I want to find my health, clarity and balance. Something that can and will happen outside – and away from – Los Angeles. In Paris, I will mend my broken heart. I will truly be able to reassemble the broken pieces that were heartlessly shattered.