Los
Angeles County became my home a little over two years ago, and I’ve lived in
West LA, Northridge, Marina del Rey and North Hollywood during that time. Born
and raised in Deep South Georgia, I wasn’t sure how I was going to like living
in a big city – and one over 2,000 miles away from home seemed even scarier,
but I’ve now lived in Southern California on three occasions: I spent a year in
Santa Barbara just after medical school and a year in Orange County (Santa Ana
and then Garden Grove) just before my first deployment into “The Surge” of the
Iraq War. Now I’m back. To my great surprise – and appreciation – I have
enjoyed living here. My bias against big towns isn’t so much about growing up
in a tiny farming town, population 5,000 (although that took some serious
adjustment.) No, my bias comes from my first ever trip to a big city – New York
City.
When
I was in medical school down in Savannah, Georgia, I had to fly all over the
country to interview for various residency programs. Based on my applications,
I was fortunate enough to get interviews with various prestigious institutions.
One of my interviews was with the Ivy League school, Columbia University in New
York.
At
the time, I was a typical 26 year old Southern girl – well, except I was also a
lesbian with short hair and a couple of tattoos, which was not as typical…
Nonetheless, I had led a relatively sheltered life when it came to “worldly”
experiences, as my Grandmama might put it. I had never in my life been to New
York City or anything like it, and the flight to New York would only be the third
or fourth plane ride I had ever taken. Nonetheless, I had the confidence that I
could compete, and the fact that they invited me for an interview reinforced my
view.
One
winter afternoon, my girlfriend (who had also never been to New York City) and I
boarded a flight north. Bailey and I had a bit of a bumpy trip, riding in on
choppy winds from a brewing blizzard. We were the last plane allowed to land at
JFK International Airport that night.
By
the time we got to where our hotel was located, it was full-on snowing. (I
should mention that in addition to being first-timers in New York, Bailey and I
were also novices when it came to snow having only “visited” snow on an
occasion or two each. In South Georgia even when it tries to snow once in a
blue moon, it doesn’t stick.) The cab driver managed to get to the correct
address – or so we thought. We grabbed our bags, paid the cab driver and turned
around to find… nothing.
As
we shivered in the cold and looked at our paperwork, we were positive we had
the right address, but we could – not – find – the – door. It looked like this
blank grayish-white wall – no signs or anything. Eventually we did find a small
door that blended in smoothly. It looked like the back exit of a restaurant,
but we tried it anyway since that was our only option.
The
door revealed a small entryway and an elevator… Bailey and I looked at each
other, confused. Bailey pushed the button, and we entered the elevator unsure
of what was about to happen.
It
turned out, the elevator was actually glass, and as it rose up the floors, it
opened directly into the lobby of the hotel – which was also the
bar/ballroom/lounge of the hotel. On that night it was rented out by the Hip-Hop
star Macy Gray for her big birthday bash. The whole place was packed with wealthy,
well dressed yankees.
Enter
a glass bubble with two girls that must’ve looked like they were straight outta
Mayberry. My thought was, “Exit stage left. Immediately.” Bailey proved calmer,
though, and we exited the elevator searching for hotel staff and a path out of
the party.
I
have no idea what I was wearing that night, but I can assure you that it was not New York hip or chic or stylish or
whatever it should’ve been to even remotely fit in there. We stuck out like
sore thumbs. Other than some confused stares, the people were polite and gave
us room to make our way to the check-in desk in the corner. There we quickly
signed in, got our room key and scurried away.
We
walked down the hall both excited and horrified by what had just happened.
Grateful to be safe and warm, we opened our door to find – the absolutely
smallest hotel room ever constructed. We had bigger bathrooms at the Stop-N-Shop
gas station back home than the one in that hotel room. The bed was up in the
corner against two walls and there were about six inches of space between the
bed and a third wall. Another six inches were allowed at the foot of the bed so
that if you were actually gonna use the dresser, you might could crack a drawer
or two open.
Bailey
and I were shocked. We were also exhausted. I grabbed a Coca~Cola from the
mini-fridge, grateful they’d thought to stock it, and plopped on the bed to
rest. I had an early morning.
The
next morning as I was getting up and getting dressed for my interview, Bailey
was fiddling through the hotel information and the New York City attractions
brochures. She chose that time to
inform me that the Coca~Cola I drank the night before cost me eight dollars. I
was in too big of a hurry to complain much but told her that I would pick up
another one on my way back from the interview to replace it. “You can’t,” she informed
me. “They have it wired. So, they already know you took it.” I stared at her
for a minute: it sounded like big city nonsense to me.
On
my way to Columbia I was faced with a mix of snow, sleet and harsh winds. Bitterly
trudging down the sidewalk, I was NOT greeted by anyone. Nobody said, “Good
mornin’!” Nobody even seemed to notice my existence – so much to the point that
I was even shoved around a bit on the sidewalk, unaware that I needed to treat it
like a football field and plow my way through the masses.
I
did take time to look up. I looked up because that was just about all I could
do. There were so many gigantic buildings all over the place, there wasn’t
really any place to look outward. Even then, there wasn’t even very much visible
sky – with all the buildings and helicopters and planes… I saw a lot of
billboards with fancy advertisements. I did look left and right at some of the
buildings I was passing and noticed playbills and menus and other
advertisements. It looked like the Coca~Colas weren’t the only expensive item
in New York City.
By
the time I arrived at the hospital for my interview, I was cold and miserable
and a little disheartened. We began with a tour for that day’s group of
interviewees, and it was good. I had been on other tours, and it was quite
comparable. Columbia has a wonderful reputation, and for medical and surgical
training, they often work in conjunction with Cornell. A residency there would
combine both institutions’ knowledge, skills, research and resources. That part
was very attractive.
Then
the tour guides – who were senior residents in the program – gave us the
practical information. They lauded the great opportunities for fellowships and
jobs after training there. New York City’s highlights of entertainment, dining
and culture were reviewed. They also told us about the various places to live
and about getting around the city primarily using the subway – to avoid all the
traffic jams, of course.
New
York City rent was going to be three to five times as much as my rent in
Savannah – and a quarter of the size. The neighborhoods they described as
charming sounded decrepit and dangerous to me… and the subway? “Don’t people
get mugged and killed all the time on the subway?” I thought. I had spent
eighty percent of my life in a town that didn’t have a bus system much less a
subway and one that only had traffic “jams” when you had to wait your turn to
pass a tractor on the highway.
By
the time I got to my interview with The Chairman I was completely relaxed. I smiled.
We joked a little bit. We casually chatted. All of this seemed to unnerve him.
Eventually, he said, “You are the most relaxed interviewee I’ve ever seen. Why
are you so calm and comfortable?”
“Oh,”
I smiled. “That’s because I know there is no way in hell I am moving to New York City. I just didn’t want to be rude
and stand you up for this interview.”
Now
he smiled. We chatted a bit longer
and then shook hands. I took the elevator to the street level and walked out of
Columbia for good. Bailey and I slogged through snowy-slush for an overpriced
Italian meal within walking distance of the hotel that night; we caught a show;
and in the morning we happily said goodbye to New York.
So
when moving to Southern California, that New York City experience was my only
taste of a really big, diversified, international city. I was quite nervous
about the move to Los Angeles. And, I was grateful to learn that those two
cities are very different.
Down
here in Southern California, I’ve found more space than In New York City
(Central Park excluded, of course) and enjoy the hills all over the area –
especially in Los Angeles and Ventura Counties, where you can see for miles whether
from Griffith Park’s peak or Ojai’s Topatopa Mountains or Malibu’s cliffs. I
enjoy having a variety of trails and parks and beaches for jogging or lounging.
Being from a warm climate, I am ever grateful that it doesn’t snow here in
Southern California – at least not that I’ve experienced. However, if I feel
the need to be in the snow, I can drive up to Big Bear in less than two hours
and have all the snow I want.
Los
Angeles – and all of Southern California – is filled with new and exciting
entertainment, has a wide array of dining experiences and is overflowing with
diverse culture. I have been to high profile art openings, fresh film
screenings, Michelin-starred restaurants, and to some of the best food trucks
outside of Portland, Oregon. There’s a unique mixture of nature and industry,
of nonprofits and corporations, of free-spirited thinkers and commercial
giants. I feel safe riding the Metro, and I’m not afraid to stop somebody on
the street for directions.
I
am actually enjoying living in Southern California. I mean, it’s hard to one-up
Southerners on their charm, but I’ve found the SoCal community welcoming and
helpful. I have made life long friends here – family, even. I still
occasionally get homesick, and when I need some of that comforting, savory,
down-home cooking, I either do it myself or stop by one of the NoHo Food Truck
Collective outfits – they know how to put a good scald on a chicken.
I
appreciate the history and culture of New York. I know many people believe it
is the best city in the world. For me, though, I’ll take LA any day. I am proud
and grateful to be a part of the Southern California community and to call it
my new Southern home for now.