RiverBender Blog: I Spent Five Days in L.A.

Generally speaking, I don’t think of myself as an anxious person. Sure, I get nervous sometimes, and I have days when the stress is heavier than others. I think that’s pretty normal. But something about this trip to L.A. had me practicing my deep breaths.

Let’s start at the beginning.

The anxiety sets in days before I actually board my flight. I stuff my backpack with essentials and text my friend, who lives in L.A., about our plans for the five days I’ll be visiting him.

I’m so excited. I’m also so nervous, I can’t really think about it too much. This trip has been in the making for a few months, but now that it’s actually here, every detail freaks me out.

I’ll be traveling by myself and navigating two airports alone, including LAX, one of the busiest airports in the U.S. Already a nervous flier, I must figure out how to get through these flights by myself. And then I’ll actually be in L.A., which is so overwhelming and exhilarating that I put it out of my mind entirely until the day I leave.

3:45 a.m., and the alarm goes off. Time for the airport. Surprisingly and unsurprisingly at the same time, it’s completely fine, and I make it on my flight, and the flight is also completely fine, and even navigating LAX goes easier than expected.

And then I step out into the California sunlight, a palm tree swaying above me, and my friend picks me up, and I remember why I came — to see one of my best buddies and experience something completely new and once-in-a-lifetime wonderful.

We go to the beach, because obviously that’s the first move when you’re in the vicinity of a beach. Standing in the sand, almost knocked over by freezing cold waves, sunburnt in a matter of minutes, I am ecstatic. I am alive on a beach in California!

My friend and I had bought concert tickets for that same night, so we scrubbed the sand off and headed out to the Greek Theater to see Lucy Dacus and Katie Gavin perform. (If you aren’t familiar with those names, just Google “incredibly sad music” and you’ll get the gist.)

I’ve heard that L.A. traffic is epically bad, but nothing could have prepared me for the hour it took to drive 14 miles. My friend, once a kindly Midwestern driver like myself, now had a vicious look in his eyes as we bobbed and weaved through the lanes. I was wildly impressed, not only because of his driving, but because he was relatively calm the entire time. I clutched my seatbelt and pretended I wasn’t sweating.

The traffic beat us down so badly that we didn’t even balk at the $50 it took to park. (As the days went on, it became obvious I was unprepared for what L.A. would do to my bank account.)

The concert was great, but by the time we arrived back at my friend’s apartment, I had been up for a solid 23 hours. I collapsed onto the futon and had nightmares of the 405.

The next day, we trekked out to Griffith Park again to visit the Griffith Observatory and the Hollywood sign. I blew my cover as a totally chill person by having a minor panic attack in the planetarium when they explained that the universe is expanding in ways we will never understand. Totally chill.

But the park was beautiful. We could see downtown L.A. and the Hollywood hills. I was shocked by the biodiversity of California. I had no idea it was so mountainous and scrubby and fascinating.

Even with this preview of the landscape (and the traffic), I was totally blown away by the two-hour drive to Joshua Tree National Park the next day. It was absolutely gorgeous, with massive rocks that people braver than me were climbing, and the mysterious Joshua tree standing sturdy even in the wind.

We climbed over boulders and scraped our knees. Our tennis shoes filled with Mojave Desert sand. The sun beat down and burnt our shoulders, and lizards peeked out from the rocky shade. It was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.

And then all too soon, the trip was over, and my friend was dropping me off at my terminal at LAX.

Of course, while I was exploring the West Coast, I was also getting news alerts from back home about the deadly tornado that passed through St. Louis. It was odd to watch this happen from across the country. Sitting at my gate in the airport, I heard people talking about it, sharing photos their loved ones had sent them, speculating out loud what kind of damage they’d return to. I’m sending all my positivity to this city that feels like home.

California was fun, but it’s nice to be back in Illinois, with two feet firmly on the ground and my anxiety levels returning to their normal baseline. Mostly, I’m proud that I managed to do it by myself, and grateful I spent that time with my friend. But I’m thanking the ever-expanding universe for our calmer Midwestern roads and the fact that I will not be on an airplane anytime soon. It’s nice to be home.

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