East Coast Girl

We're SO Hollywood.

Hey dudes, I am back from a whirlwind trip across the country!

My very first trip to California. The farthest I've ever been from Boston.

I went to visit good friends (college roomies to be exact) and scope out the scene out there. I saw Santa Monica and rode the Ferris Wheel at the pier, went to Disneyland (also a first, I acted like a 7 year old most of the time...and judged the acting ability of the Princesses, Cinderella was the best), saw all the classic Hollywood tourist sites, shopped on Rodeo Drive, and spent some time cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway into Orange County. It was fun. I saw a lot. And I took it all in.

I was glad to see my friends spend some quality girl time together and get the scoop on what they're doing. Both of them are originally from Connecticut and have moved out to SoCal in the last year. One is working a 9-5 in Orange County and thoroughly enjoying being a California Girl. The other is a newly minted regular photo double on AMC's Mad Men, and working her way up the actor-ladder out there in LaLaLand. They are living the dream. Independent, hard working, out-going. I am so proud of them for what they have done so far and what they plan to keep doing.

But, the verdict is: I undeniably and unapologetically am an East Coast Girl. For me, the atmosphere, the landscape, the architecture, and general way of life seemed so plastic. There was no heart, no roots, nothing solid to hold on to or feel connected to. Everyone was always moving, freeways ran everywhere, strip mall after strip mall appeared in neighborhoods, it's spread out but claustrophobic. The pressure to "make-it" loomed EVERYWHERE. Even for the people who aren't somehow in the entertainment industry (of which there are very few) there seemed to be this voracious need to out-do, out-spend, and generally one-up the next guy. I'm all for healthy competition (trust me you do not want to get involved in an unruly game of Scattegories with me) but I had this overwhelming feeling that that is all there was. And what comes of that?

I never planned on going out LA. I am not into film (actually it terrifies me) and it is far away from my family. But whenever I travel somewhere, there is a little voice inside me that says something like "Living here could be an adventure!" or "I wonder what it would be like to have a little apartment near that cute cafe." But on this trip I never heard those voices. I could only think, I would never make it here...and I wouldn't want to try. I would never be understood. Never feel really at home.

I'm sure I will visit California again. There are still lots of places I want to see. And, of course, my friends are there. But this trip really solidified for me that Boston is not only where I belong but where I want to be. And boy is it good to be back.

"There is a magic in that little word, home; it is a mystic circle that surrounds comforts and virtues never known beyond its hallowed limits"

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

This week, I spent 48 hours in Pittsfield, MA. Now, you may be thinking, "WHY on Earth are you spending time in Pittsfield, mid-week in April?!" Well, that's where I grew up. There's something about getting off the Pike at Exit 2 and not even having to think about which way to go, it's muscle memory that drives me home. It was funny driving in, all of the houses looked so spread out and green compared to the clustered, brick and cement apartment buildings of Boston. As my dad put it, it was like taking a mini-vacation from the city. But my trip was more than that. Going home is more than an experience, its a full-bodied sensation.

In taking my dog for a walk, I ran into several neighbors, all who called out to me by name from their backyards or garages and came down the the driveway to chat with me. They asked about my brother or my grandmother or my job and all seemed happy to hear that I was doing well. I visited local shops and hangouts - the Barnes and Noble, for instance, which although is much more limited than the bookstores in Boston is a familiar haunt from my high school years. Kaylea and I took a trip to the local apple orchard located 20 minutes from my house which, frankly, you cannot do in Boston. While out to dinner with my parents at a local restaurant, we ran into my fourth grade teacher, a nice stroll down memory lane. I thought about all of the times in college where I experienced post-teenaged angst and dreaded heading home to my small town from bustling Boston. But now, (at my wise old age of 23) it's a relief to be somewhere so familiar and safe. It makes me realize that no matter how far I move away or what city I live in, I'll always have somewhere to go that has watched me grow and remembers me through various stages of my life. I realize that while Boston is where I belong for the moment, small town USA served me well in my early years and I look forward to my next trip home. Where every body knows my name.