The City Chose Me

*My attempt at a haibun poem*

My flight from Raleigh is approaching Los Angeles. The ideas placed in my mind by outsiders spew. So much smog. Horrible traffic. Just fake people. I’m here for a work meeting and it’s easy to stay in this narrative. My job gives me the feeling of being choked by polluted air, stuck in traffic, the pain of faking a smile.

But what am I seeing as the plane makes its descent? I see mountains, sunny skies, ocean lined roadways. And those California state flowers, poppies.

The orange flower

A blazing fire lures me

Creamy sherbert hills

In my cab now, I turn away from the vibrancy of these foreign flora, not to be fooled by outward beauty. Is this the fakeness I’ve been warned about? Be skeptical. I have already labeled myself as unfit for this city. “It’s just not me.”

But who am I then?

A question I can’t answer

The sun is blinding

Three days have passed in the City of Angels. Why can’t I admit that I enjoyed the time here? My body feels like it’s uncoiling from years of living in a place I felt I didn’t belong, my current city of Raleigh. I’m ready to move, but this trauma leaves me with a pressure to find the perfect new city. Still, I’m unwilling to reconcile the preconceived notions I had with the reality I am experiencing on my visit.

Palm trees sound like wind

Breeze of possibility

Ocean waves of hope

On my third work trip to Los Angeles now, I am wondering if all those stereotypes are simply to keep people away from this secret paradise. I’m in a daze of 75 degree weather in December and I fear I’m falling in love. This isn’t what I had planned for myself, and that scares me.

The dreamers delight

Drunk on the energy here

Please don’t break my heart

Your trails have me lost

Reach the views of your basin

Finding myself now

Desert dirt pleading

Pacific waters beaming

Knowing I am hooked

I’m back in my apartment in North Carolina now. Humidity seeping into my pores as I daydream about those Hollywood Hills. My phone rings. A job in Los Angeles. Just for me if I’ll take it. Is this a test? It’s too easy, too convenient. But isn’t that the point of life, not to struggle? Maybe it doesn’t have to be so hard.

I feel like that bright orange California poppy. It grows on the roadsides, in empty lots, all over. Maybe I too can bloom in a place I never expected. I say yes.