About six years ago, I spent an entire morning in the ER with a fever. I must’ve been discharged by the hospital quickly ‘cause I remember, later that afternoon already being at home; comfortably laying belly-down on my wobbly, two-mattresses-too-high, daybed while “Heartbreak Kid” was on TV. It was the first time I’d caught the movie from the beginning. The sun was setting and the cool breeze pushed me further into a daze. Despite the body aches and congestion, that moment was bliss. I wanted to remember it, specifically and vividly. After all, it was my birthday.

I am a firm believer in “everything happens for a reason;” a reason that is far greater than our current, limited understanding. Whether our desire to know-it-all is driven by curiosity, fascination, or pride, I find there’s a peace reclining in the notion that someway, somehow things will work out. Albeit, I’m a creature of incessant worrying. Still, I’ve been able to step back and recognize when pieces come together in a very precise process, all the while being partly outside of my control. All packed up and defiantly ready to go, there was something in the way to get here. It’s no surprise the night prior to leaving New York required a visit to the ER with food poisoning.

It took months to commit to a flight date
and weeks to cope with the decision.

Sunday was a day of rehydrating and absorbing the fact that I was really leaving. TWO MORE DAYS. This was no longer just a daydream while watching a dingy-ass VHS recording of “Clueless.” It was now becoming a reality. Whatever ideas I had about Los Angeles were going to be met head on, whether it would all turn out great, horribly, or just meh.

I was in a melancholy state that felt like an eternity. I was slow. I

One sore throat, sinus, fever, stomach virus and postponed flight later, I had finally made it to California.

I’d rather be a believer than a cynic. The latter leaves little room for growth.