OK so hello, finally. Time to have another go. It’s the second time that counts, that’s what people say. “Second wind”. “Second chances”. “If at first you don’t succeed, you totally will the second time”. There are so many proverbs I could cite. But then I would – because this is the second time I’ve moved half way across the world to restart my life in Los Angeles. Most people do it once and regret it. I’ve done it twice. The first time I came from London. This time I came from India.
There’s a definition of stupidity that goes something like: “doing the same thing and expecting different results”. President Obama said something along these lines during his election campaign, before he hired that Goldman Sachs guy to run the Treasury department. And I think he’s right. It just doesn’t apply here, because moving to LA this time is not the same as before. It’s a different thing altogether.
The first time, I arrived almost by accident, on a whim, full of youth and spunk and vigor and balls and more spunk. I was a different man then. Stupid, cocky, optimistic. Not a man at all in many ways. Now, I’m older and I have less spunk and balls. Still stupid, and occasionally optimistic, but not cocky anymore. Nor cocksure. Nothing that starts with “cock”, except maybe “cockamamie”. I’ve seen the evil in the hearts of men. I’ve seen how quickly dreams can crumble and age can etch itself over a face, hasty crinkles around the eyes. And still I returned to LA, city of youthful dreamers. That’s the biggest difference. This time around there’s no whim about it. This shit was planned. I’m in LA because I want to be.
It’s a funny thing returning to a place you’re not from. All the newness and the familiarity gets tangled up. Your eyes are different and memory plays its tricks. It’s still a hundred million miles from England, which I miss dearly, but so far I’m managing to fool myself on all kinds of levels. That this desert city out west might actually turn out to be home. That maybe I’m not as spunkless and cardigan as I once thought. And that this blog – the collected brainfarts of an English journalist in LALALA – might be of interest to someone out there. I’ll write about the stories I’m working on and the peculiar people I meet. The lies I tell myself. The lies that come pouring out of the television like an open sewer. My ongoing efforts to find the sunshine in California. And some of it may be made up.
Thank you for dropping by. I won’t drone on quite so much next time.