I learned that culture shock can happen in a city you've lived in for years.
I also learned that culture-of-you shock is more than just a thing I just made up.
9 June 2015 15:00 PST Los Angeles, CA
Taking the metro gold line from Union Station to Lincoln-Cypress provided an experience of culture shock that shocked me to experience. The browning impact of the drought, the preponderance of the homeless and the hungry, the Los Angeles traffic. Staring wide-eyed, feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, I thought
L.A. is a dry, graffitied dust bowl of broken dreams and dissatisfaction.
(Sometimes.)
(Relatively speaking.)
(When returning from a two-month stay elsewhere.)
But the worst was still to come, for the most difficult part of returning to Los Angeles was not returning to a city of 12 million people, but returning to me. Or, more precisely, the artifacts of my personal culture. The red chair, the theatrical release poster of John Carpenter's The Thing, the read and unread books stacked on shelves and lining baseboards, the imported Balinese furniture, the neatly organized financial records, Skinny Puppy's "Testure" single on red vinyl leaning against the Clash's London Calling album on black vinyl, the rarely used cooking paraphernalia, the piles and piles of pictures. So much stuff from a past that long-since passed away. Staring wide-eyed, exhausted and confused, I thought
Dude, I fucking tossed my turntable last year.
I don't even like Raymond Carver.
Have I ever used a garlic press?
The girl who decorated this apartment is not the woman standing here now. Wait. What?
And with that, tears flowed.
(Just a little.)
(OK, more than a little.)
(I had to make a Target tissue run and stock up.)
Returning home returned me to a historical record of past choices and experiences memorialized in the material goods I chose to display and pay someone else to dust. Or, let's call it what it is, the stuff others bought for me to reinforce who I am to them and the stuff I bought for myself to reinforce who I once was or think I should be now. I felt trapped by my crap.
In Toronto, I discovered that one suitcase full of clothes, shoes, sunscreen and jewelry is enough. Enough to get by on week after week. Enough to remind me that everything I really need I can take with me wherever I go. Enough to generate passion for my art, my body, my friends, my purpose, my ambitions, my loves. Enough to live responsibly toward others and, more importantly, enough to live responsibly toward myself. Being free of crap is pretty freeing.
(OK, I do LOVE my new One Plus One phone!)
I learned that getting distance from the Culture of You can set off an alarm in your soul that either wakes you up or shakes you down, if not when you leave than certainly when you return. This is a good thing. I mean, do you want to be who you once were? Do you want to be who you’ve always thought you should be? Do you especially want to be what others need you to be?
If not, what are you going to do about it?
9 July 2015 17:00 PST Los Angeles, CA
I love L.A. again.
But I love Toronto too.
“It's a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy.”
~Lucille Ball~