Bright lights, big city

I always considered myself a big-city girl, even though I was raised in a medium-size Midwestern metro. I craved the amenities before I even understood the word: the theatre, the museums, the excitement, the cache. I grew up watching movies set in boomtowns, and my ignorance convinced me that all big cities were just like the New York portrayed in every white-bread romantic comedy. In my mind, the hustle and bustle was just a shabby part of the glamour, the tiny kitchens and leaky faucets a natural consequence of living in apartments with breathtaking views across a sprawling, breathing, thriving urban area. Starry-eyed and far too cocksure, I knew that one day I wanted to join the ranks of subway-riders, taxi-hailers, and smog-inhalers.

Of course, the reality is never anything like the dream. And LA is not NYC — or KCMO, for that matter. Three-hundred and ninety-one days have passed since we arrived, and I am still struggling to settle in, to grab hold of my new landscape. Every day, things get a little easier and a little more complicated. Every day, I learn a little more about how little I know.

Which brings us to this new site. In 391 days, I’ve lost the piece of myself that I shared with others. I need to break down the wall I built that keeps me from being honest and vulnerable. Through all the heartache and difficulty, I realize I have a lot of wisdom to share, questions to ask, and a deep desire to connect that I have been stifling in the face of occasionally crippling despair.

I hope you’ll join me on this exploration of myself, my home, my new family, the labyrinth that is my finances, and — of course — the bright lights in this big city.

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