“I don’t want to move to LA!” the thought bounced in the empty caverns of my skull and screamed all the way up my forehead temples.

I was driving thru Sunland, a suburb outside LA proper: the sun was beating down in 87 degree sheets while a thousand free radicals attached themselves to my sunscreen-stained sweat. My left arm baked as I zipped along in the Man of my Dreams’ Toyota hybrid.

To me, the difference between the air in LA and the air in SF is similar to the difference between salt water and fresh water. Salt water is just a floater’s paradise, thousands of little plankton just swimming around in circles. Freshwater has minerals and maybe an errant microbe or two. That’s how the air in LA feels in my lungs: heavy with ocean sperm. It was one of the reasons I moved away.

Ah, fresh smog!

I happened to be in LA visiting Mr. Man of my Dreams. He was away at work so I had the notion of fixing him a meal to surprise him. I needed… coconut oil, avocados, and cashews. (It was a raw food recipe… raw foodists love coconut oil and avocados. It also makes great massage oil… but that’s another subject.) So I hopped into his car and tootled off to the grocery store.

It took me 25 minutes. One way. Of driving. And by LA standards, that was NEARBY. I wanted to cry. I hated driving. And memories of living in LA flooded my heat-stroked addled mind: driving 45 minutes to go see a movie, driving 40 minutes to go meet friends for dinner, driving 1 1/2 hours to drive to Santa Monica thru Sunday traffic so I can pay $10 to park somewhat close to the beach.

By the time I arrived back at Mr. Man of my Dreams home, an hour and a half had elapsed. I was exhausted. I unpacked my three items. I didn’t want to cook anymore. I was cranky. And although this sweet man had asked me to move back down to LA, I was finding every reason in the book not to move:

-the air is bad
-I hate driving
-I hate having to keep up with the Kardashians

Ahhhhhhh!!!!

And if I moved back down and moved in with him, there were added fears:

-he’s going to see me un-shaved
-my cat will pee on his face
-I might screw up his house’s delicate piping with one massive bowel movement from hell

I was driving myself batty. I decided to take a shower to relax. As I stood in the shower, my thoughts continued to run:

-I might clog his shower drain with hair
-he’s going to hate how the house smells when I cook daing
-he’s a morning person, he’s going to wake me up all the time at 6am!

I heard him open the front door. I hastily turned off the water and grabbed a towel to wipe the worry off my face.

-I might break a dish he really liked
-He’s going to hate the fact that I watch shallow things like TLC’s “Say Yes to the Dress!” and HGC’s “House Hunters”!

He opened the bathroom door. “Helloooooo?” he crooned. I stood there with a towel wrapped around me. I felt like a wet blanket. I was a bundle of negativity. “Hi,” I mumbled and looked away. My thoughts were still saying,

-what if he hates the fact that I take long showers?

“Hi,” he replied. I looked up. He was smiling. That kind of smile that pierces the clouds of your soul like a ray of bright Los Angeles sunshine. His big, brown eyes were shiny with mischief and kindness, with a hint of work weariness behind all that.

They say in meditation to repeat, “I know in my heart (fill in the blank here)” because it gets you aligned with your instinctual self.

As I stood there dripping water onto the bathroom floor, I knew in my heart that moving to LA would require a giant leap of faith: and for the privilege of seeing that grin light up my day everyday, I would do it.

A good smile...