Them Changes

The idea that the weather in Los Angeles is always nice is more or less a myth.

Locals will say that it gets too cold in the winter and transplants will say that it gets too hot in the summer. There’s an entire season dedicated to clouds and the cool months alternate between years of drought and years of so much rain that houses cascade down the side of hills. And because this town was built on a false weather idealism, masses are left without air conditioning in the same heat that burns down entire forests and subdivisions. Sometimes the wind blows so hard it knocks the power out of whole grids.

Right now, though, I think it’s pleasant. 

In the last five and a half years I’ve come to savor Los Angeles winter because I am, afterall, an transplant. The cool months here are like the spring Minnesota never gets, the spring Minnesota wishes it would get. Mostly sun, sometimes low hanging fog, rain once a week or once every other week. Real puffy clouds against a pure azure sky. The air is incredibly dry, which is my only grievance, but it remains superior to the alternative clamminess. 

Regardless, around the time January ends, something begins stirring; something begins looking for signs of summer.

I turned twenty-eight at the very end of the year and with it came the idea that now, in my late-twenties, things would begin to change. It occurred to me that I might be alone in pursuing whatever this new future was, but it’s beginning to feel like I am not. 

It’s hard to put my finger on what this shift is, but it seems like it could be summed up as easily as: we’re growing up. The energy to plan an outing simultaneously comes much more naturally and requires much more effort than it ever did before. On the one hand, we know what we’re doing, what we like, and how to make it happen. On the other hand, we’re spending more time in our careers and personal lives, and in short, we’re tired. 

All My Friends came on my shuffle the other day and as often happens when I’m surprised by a listen to LCD Soundsystem, I was caught off guard by how much it feels like I’m finally growing into the music I adored as a teenager. Everything we do feels as exciting as the first time because we never know when it will be the next time. In other words, the exact inverse of knowing something is coming every weekend and using it as a vanishing point to get through a week. It used to be every Saturday night, sweating on a dancefloor at The Satellite and invisible to our troubles, and now it’s whenever the planets align on a starless night.

Our fountains of endless energy have reached their threshold or we now unconsciously understand the delicate balance between work and play. 

It’s not quite the feeling of dissipating youth but it feels a lot like finally being in the right place to enjoy the youth we always imagined for ourselves. There’s less pressure to be seen under any circumstances but more pressure to be actually there when you are. The freedom comes from a certain fearlessness which is sparked by the confidence that we’re finally part of a true ‘we,’ and ‘we’s’ don’t forget about one another if you miss a night of karaoke or opt out of a movie night. 

I was walking down Hollywood Boulevard toward home this weekend, relishing in the winter warmth. It had rained in the morning, and it smelled like fresh grass and wet garbage, as it does when it rains in Los Angeles. It’s both revolting and refreshing, like a lot of very good things. Most of the time, the unrelentless sun in Los Angeles feels like a taunt, a reminder of the promise of a happiness undelivered, but lately I’ve been finding that it’s welcome. Perhaps, it’s because it’s finally beginning to feel as if a happiness is being delivered.