As I drove home yesterday I became somewhat nostalgic thinking about my time here in Los Angeles. Three years ago I had packed up my things in Orange County and made my way up to Hollywood where I was bound and determined to enjoy lots of music, good food, and find my future husband. I suppose some of that panned out, I gained 15 pounds from great food trucks and random restaurants, may have become deaf from being too close at music venues, but still have yet to tie the knot. I tell everyone that asks me about LA that it is fun to visit but not to live. In all honesty, between the parking tickets, traffic, rude people, and expensive price tags, I can’t recall a time that I have ever actually “loved” living here. Yes, I was now only 4 miles from an awesome music venue but with congested streets and a fight to find a place to park, it somehow turned in to a three hour trip right up the street. I can’t even count the number of times I refused to go out after finding a great parking spot in sheer fear that I may leave and have to hike a mile to my apartment.

Perhaps I came to LA to disappear, to get away, to fly under the radar and although I was successful with that for about 6 months, I quickly realized I couldn’t survive this town alone. I had some really amazing neighbors, my friend Joe and his dog Quatro, who watched my cats and fed my fish every time I left the country. My friend Jenn Diffley that was a listening ear more times than I can count. However, aside from those cool people, my living conditions were filled with roaches, a slumlord, and possible MS13 territory. The only plus to that location was the amazing taco stand at the end of my street. I awaited the day I could move from that place and once I found a spot, I packed up never to look back.

On to West Hollywood where I had a parking spot and double the living space. 2013 was an eventful year as I would be the Relief Society President at church, get laid off from my job (the biggest blessing in disguise), do photography full-time, and meet my heartwarming Russian neighbors. I know without a doubt that Babushka was the sole reason I lived in this apartment on N. Stanley, although walking outside without graffiti on the walls was great as well.

Los Angeles may have put a few grey hairs on head, brought forth an accident or some car mishap every 2-3 months, dealt with rude people and sat in so much traffic I gave myself anxiety attacks, seen more homeless people with their pants down than I would care to remember, been chased by a crack whore while on a morning run, racked up thousands of dollars in red light tickets, but there was something about this chapter I felt I would miss as I drove down Willoughby for perhaps one of the last times in a while. I have met some really good people in this town, amiss all the crazy money hungry weirdos.

Some chapters in my life are easier to walk away from, some pull at the heart strings a little bit more. It is funny how at the end of things, relationships, apartment leases, friendships, you tend to only remember the good things and overlook the bad. I will spend the month of July in Orange County at my brother’s house and then on July 25, I move to Geneva, Switzerland… biggest move of my life.

Farewell Los Angeles, thanks for the memories, good and bad.