Surprisingly, one of the weirder parts of moving isn't getting used to the unfamiliar aspects of a new city. Instead, it's reacquainting yourself with familiarity when coming back home. It's the feeling of driving down your usual roads, passing former apartments, hanging out at old stomping grounds...and realizing you're now just a visitor.
I'm currently in LA for a very short trip back home. And as a write this, I'm sitting in one of my favorite coffee shops. A hidden gem in Los Feliz where the drinks are automatically served in cozy mugs for here. Where writers, producers, and nebulous "creatives" work away on Saturdays or the occasional celebrity takes a coffee date with a friend, assuming she won't be bothered by unrelenting tourists or nosy locals. It's a place I spent many Saturdays while I lived in the neighborhood. A spot I fought numerous hours of writer's block, combed through hundreds of my street photos to find the perfect shot, and planned (plotted) my next move to New York.
It's a special place for me. Yet, I can't help feeling weird sitting here pretending to be a local knowing I actually live a few thousand miles vs. a few blocks away.
But, it's a misplaced malaise. And I'm beginning to come to terms with that comfortably uncomfortable feeling of knowing that when I left, nothing changed.
And that's okay.