Shout out to my cat Rufus for the photobomb there. Thanks, buddy.
Anyway, driving out to LV made me think about how familiar I am with this area. I know SoCal from San Diego up to Santa Barbara like the back of my hand. I have thousands of stories and memories and photos of experiences in SoCal. From camping to college to everything in-between, I just KNOW this place. My dad was a truck driver for most of my life, and his natural knack for driving and directions was thankfully passed down to me. With little exception, I am able to plan the best route to a concert, avoid traffic if there's an accident, and navigate the labyrinth of freeways with ease. And as I drive around in these weeks and days leading up to the big move, I'm flooded with memories, especially when I'm in my hometown.
La Verne will forever be etched in my mind, even as it grows and evolves. As I exited the freeway to go to the salon, I drove down Fruit Street, a street that Megan and I used to go trick-or-treating on as kids. I glanced to the right as I passed Bowdoin Street (pronounced bow-dwynn around these here parts), down toward the street we grew up on. I saw our old bus stop and remember the time a coyote sauntered down the street as we waited for the bus, and mom made us yell and clap and make noise in order to scare it away. I drove past the Lutheran high school and wondered what it was like to go to a tiny little school like that. I passed by Bonita high school, where I met most of my closest girlfriends and where my life was a combination of sports bras, prepping for AP tests, and wondering when on earth I was going to get my first kiss (not until freshmen year of college, if you really want to know). I saw the "new" post office, which was kind of a big deal when it was constructed. I drove down 3rd Street, admiring the beautiful old homes with their lovely front porches, the big oak trees shading the street, and the tiny churches interspersed between the homes. The salon I go to is right in historic old town La Verne, and I parked in the tiny parking lot right behind Warehouse Pizza. Oh, Warehouse Pizza... your thick bubbly crust and addictive ranch dressing will always be in my heart (and on my hips, I imagine). I remember the days in my twenties when I'd stay at Candace's apartment, and we'd walk to old town to have drinks at the three bars that were there - we called it "The Devil's Triangle." Between pitchers of beer at Warehouse, cocktails at Heroes, and the cheap beer and cigarette smoke that lingered at Nick's Place, we always managed to have a good time (read - get into some sort of trouble, relatively speaking). The salon is right next to Caffé Allegro, and I recall my mom telling stories of celebrating with her girlfriends when they finished another class in their master's program at University of La Verne. I also recall the fierce garlic breath that she'd have for three days after eating at Caffé Allegro... I have fond memories of my dad taking his '29 Ford roadster out to a car show on the streets of old town, and hearing him chat with other car lovers about the great history that the car has. On my way home I drove past the fire station where I got to slide down the pole when my dad was a reserve firefighter, past Kuns Park where we celebrated many a friend's birthday, past Carls Jr and the endless car wash fundraisers, and finally got back onto the 210 freeway using an entrance that only came into existence a few years ago, when Cal Trans finally extended the 210 out to the 15.
I have so many memories and stories and experiences in La Verne and all throughout SoCal, I could write a book about it. And as I realize how familiar I am with everything here, I also realize that I'm soon going to be in a place that I am 100% a stranger. Well, maybe 95% a stranger, I do watch movies and TV and have friends in New York.
A tiny part of me is weirded out by the fact that I am going to a place that I don't know completely. I don't know the best pizza place, I don't know where to park so I don't get a ticket, I don't know what kind of people hang out where, I don't know anything really, besides what I read or hear from friends.
But there's the other part of me, the bigger part of me that is excited, overjoyed, and anxious to get there so I can explore a new place.
Over the past few years I've done a lot more traveling, both domestic and international travel, and I've definitely been bitten by the travel bug. I love making new friends, talking to strangers, figuring out what I don't know, verifying recommendations, seeing all of the important sights and discovering an awesome place that is hidden in a corner. I know that my love of food, sports (go Houston Texans!), karaoke, live music, and my burgeoning photography hobby will connect me with some amazing people. I'll build my arsenal of my favorite places to hang out, my secret routes to get me to the subway faster, my list of what neighborhoods to avoid after a certain time of night. And I'm eager to be exactly who I am now, but with brand new people who have no preconceived notions about who I am or rather, who I was.
Through all of this I keep thinking how grateful I am that I will have one known constant in my life - Megan. Whatever we encounter, however strange or foreign or unknown it is, we will be able to weather it together. And mannnnnn will we have some amazing stories to tell.
Of course, when asked about where I'm from, I'll proudly announce as I always do, "La Verne, a beautiful small town nestled in the foothills, about 40 miles outside of Los Angeles. It's close to Pasadena, and no, it's not next to Shirley..."
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