Something I find charming about my dad is that he loves Los Angeles so much. Even though he’s been all over the globe, he thinks his hometown is the greatest place on earth. Like the boy in The Alchemist, but minus all the agita.
And as a result of my upbringing, I grew up believing that the whole world really wanted to be in Los Angeles—they were all just waiting to sort out their Visa situation.
These days, I understand that not everyone’s in denial when they say they don’t love LA. But after being home this past week, I have a new appreciation for my dad’s take on the city. And a renewed zest for LA. Emotions, as they say, are contagious.
But the greater realization is this: Loving where you are in life is a really endearing quality. I’m not talking about “where you are” in that new-agey sense. I mean this literally: as in, where you are geographically.
(This is a picture I took spying on some luvvahs in Manhattan Beach:)
“Loving where you are” translates to gratitude, though my dad would definitely never describe his affection for LA that way. Because to have gratitude implies that you might not. He just enjoys all the city has to offer. Like how, in LA, you never need a gym membership because it’s one big park if you want it to be. He enjoys people-watching people and checking out architecture and seeing sunsets.
On New Year’s Day, we went on a hike in Will Rogers State Park, which is a great source of trails and history. (Who knew the Nazis had a hideout in sunny Southern California?) It’s tucked between Malibu, Pacific Palisades, and Brentwood—the trifecta of LA glamour and glitz.
One minute you’re on Sunset Boulevard en route to UCLA, and the next, you’re in a state park.
But you’d never guess you’re in the middle of a city with views like this:
I enjoyed seeing LA through his eyes, and wanted you to, too.