This new neighborhood, to employ a colloquial term, fits me like a glove.
Whenever I describe it to friends, colleagues, passersby, I tend to employ these vague grandiose phrases - "It just feels alive", "Things are happening", blah blah blah.
It's hard to pin down on what I like the most about it. Is it the manifestation of the traditional city life that I've long kept buried? Los Angeles is a city and isn't a city. As increasingly is the case, the haves like to segregate from the have-nots in well-decorated and gentrified areas - gated off by the invisible barriers of blocks and intersections. Though you could argue that the same is occuring here, the Pressed Juiceries, the fair-trade coffee shops, and the industrial bistros occupying the former street residences of the 99%, if you live here, you can't just drive away from what you don't want to see.
The scourge of mental illness, addiction, what have you, is right in front of your face - not conveniently tucked away in the boroughs that you drive quickly through. Those that are forgotten, those that are invisible, are there right in front of you.
But obviously, gentification has it's benefits. Wonderfully inventive restaurants residing in old banks, hotel lobbies, etc. are merely a few minutes walk. Street art transforms decrepit walls and alleys into makeshift galleries. Everywhere you turn you are faced with the past - in the form of an intricately designed turret, balcony, etc. In the age of mass-produced everything, chain restaurants, and little boxes on the hillside, seeing the echoes of an older Los Angeles feels oddly refreshing rather than regressive.
It's really the first time I've felt at home. Los Angeles was always an adopted city - I was raised with redwoods, big backyards, and a constant sweater weather climate. Yet for some reason, in a place where the only green thing within a half of a mile is a succulent in my apartment, I've come to find the home sense I've always craved. It's strange, pleasurable, and comforting all at once.
