Angels & Inspiration.

It's no surprise that I have been riding the struggle bus the past couple of months.

Ever since I left my familiar home in Alaska, I've ridden rocky roads all the way to California, continuing my arduous and difficult journey towards the path of finding myself once again, and becoming the woman I'm meant to be.

It's not been easy and I have cried many rivers in my isolation.

Continually looking for ways to make my life easier and to once again get back on track, I've recently begun to cut things out of my life that have made me unnecessarily unhappy.

And I'm working on things to make my life better. Like communicating better, taking a day off, and treating myself every now and then.

My most recent treat? An unexpected journey to Los Angeles.  

Dubbed "The City of Angels", I've never much cared for the overcrowded and dirty city. Born there, I peaced out when I was 4 and was always ambivalent about the what the city of angels stood for, a rough, crazy commuter driven metropolitan town.

Except my best friend happens to live there (as do the Los Angeles Lakers). And this particular best friend just made my weekend one for the books. 

We didn't do anything "spectacular", so to speak. We didn't run into any celebrities (though I was mistaken for Kim Kardashian- how? I do not know), we didn't partake in all of the touristy activities, but we did what we do best together: eat, drink, shop, talk, and take pictures.

Whitney, an artistic and absolute genuine friend, inspired me in all the ways I've been needing as of late. 

Talented and successful in her field, Whitney's the type of friend who lets me ugly cry in front of her when I'm having trouble with boys, is the best listener and advice giver when it comes to "treating yo'self", and has felt like a lifelong friend even though we've only known each other for 4 years. 

Unbeknownst to me, this weekend spent in LA was a gift from above. Along with my journey of self discovery, I'm finding that opportunities are everywhere for me to get better. Hands are extended towards me and help is simply a friend away.

Los Angeles may not be the "city of angels" as I physically imagine it to be, but it has one angel in it, and I thank her profusely for making my weekend an inspiring one.

Whitney, you're the best a gal like me could ask for.

Which Side of the Street?

On the right side of the street stands one version of me.  

Day having just ended, I leave work in the city and begin my long and dreaded commute home.  

In my ears, I play my “sad and lonely” Spotify playlist in anticipation of a depressing two hour journey ahead. 

I pass garbage, glass, and graffiti scattered across the sidewalk and my jaws clench at the disgusting nature of people who litter on Mother Earth, a thankless gesture to a land that provides us with such rich nourishment. And this is how we return the favor? 

In the air, marijuana, cigarette smoke, and rotting filth cloud my nose and I wrinkle it in disgust, hatred for this unbearable mixture of smells.  

I turn the corner and pass a man masterbating in the corner. Not five minutes later, I hear the loud voice of a crazy homeless man calling out to me: “F*** that p****!” He follows me for awhile and then ambles off muttering drug infused nonesense. 

I get home eventually, exhausted, feeling dirty, and disappointed at the state of San Francisco and its crazy inhabitants.  

And then there’s the other me on the left side of the street.  

Work had just ended, and whether or not my day went good or bad, I begin my walk with a bounce in my step, for I was going home.  

In my ears, I play a pleasant playlist, perhaps “shy smile songs”, or “unwind.” 

On my walk, I pass a myriad of flower displays. The old Victorians compete with each other and I admire the landscaping. And oh look! I find a lucky penny.  

In the air, I get a whiff of the ocean, for the breeze in Haight is strong and brings the faint scent of the Bay up the steep streets and into my nose. I pass a restaurant or two and the smell of good cooking tempts me in and reminds me of San Francisco’s impressive restaurant choices.  

I turn the corner and run into an older man walking his dog, who comes up and gives me a lick. Lower by the Bart station, I pass a couple in a date, smiling to myself and silently wishing them good fortune.  

I get home, eventually, proud of myself for my adult commute and I treat myself by running straight to the fridge for some chocolate milk. I feel good, accomplished, and I think back on all the good things I got to experience during my travels home.  

Often, I find myself automatically assuming role of the girl on the right side of the street. The girl who already presumes she’s going to see nasty nasty on her way home, this version of me leaves work with an iced over heart.  

It makes my commute unbearable and I always return home grumpy and unhappy. Cause when you think about it, there’s a lot of stuff on my commute home that I would just rather not witness or experience.  

However, there is a silver lining in everything and I have found that my attitude when I leave the city is the real problem here. Not the garbage filled streets, but the decision I make into automatically turning into someone who sees only the ugly.  

I don’t want to be that version of me, the one who sees the bad. And when I decide to be the other version of me, so to speak, it makes a world of difference.  

When I leave work in the city with the conscious decision to look for the beauty and not the ugly, it’s like the ice around my heart is physically melting. I feel this warmth and my perspective on life changes dramatically.  

I am in charge of my own happiness and I need to start making the concious and plain easy decision to start looking at things with an optimistic attitude. 

That won’t always cancel out the horrendous sights I have the misfortune of witnessing, but at least I have the decision on which side of the street I’ll choose to walk home on. 

*Also, it’s Friday the 13th, which may explain the crazies. 👻