As we flew somewhere over the northern canyons of Mexico I felt a mild panic attack coming my way. I always get like that when I head towards somewhere more familiar, somewhere without a completely open road ready for me to navigate. I got from the terminal to the highway and to the beach in Los Angeles without much thought or stress at all-I've done it many times. That to me isn't adventure. That to me isn't even life. But I did enjoy my chat with an elderly man from Chicago and our Lyft driver as he drove down to the Pacific Coast as the sun set over LA as he ranted about the mayor and the corruption in the windy city-because I knew a little bit of what he was talking about. Also I got to be myself. I got to be that strange girl heading towards a hostel with vague plans, and as I got out of the car and into the edge of the city my new friend Jimmy knew that he could never live a life like mine. So I got the strength to push forward. On the plane I thought back to the plans I had the last time I was in LA. I spent New Years here and woke up talking to other people in transit, just trying to live the dream. I finally had the courage to take a leap of faith and chose not to teach this year. I chose to work on writing projects, and make a presence for myself in this online world. I chose to try and live nomadically and wander where life takes me, solely on one-way tickets. Work wise, it's been a struggle. It's been like a huge wall of nonsense that I just can't get over, under and through. Life wise I've learned more lessons than I ever thought I could. But just like when every September comes, I usually have no idea how the year is going to end and that's all I could think about as I landed once again in one of my favourite cities in the world. At my hostel this morning I overheard a guest talk about his business plans and I smiled to myself, thinking of how much I missed LA. Everyone who comes here or passes by here truly has a dream. You have to have a vision in order to breathe, and you have to have the skills in order to survive.
That's Chitown in the background
I'm not a blogger. I'm a writer. This "blog" post is about California, digital nomad life, homelessness in Lost Angeles, and a whole lot of other things. But my SEO (and the last time I was in this city, I had no idea what that meant) is horrible for this post and if you Google (when did that word become a part of the English language?!) any of those words will come up probably on page 100,000 in any of those categories.
A day off to see ancient pyramids
Do I care? A little. Because I want people to read my words, and learn from my lessons. And one of the billion little new things I've learned throughout this 8 month period of wanders (from Cali, to a loft in downtown Montreal as I started my freelance work, to Chicago and into Latin America, now back to where I started my year, by the Pacific, and wondering what's next) is that people don't like what they read online. They don't like a lot of the bloggers, and they hate peoples phoniness. The fake comes through even if it's with a little wave or happy face emoji into the comments section of an Instagram account. I can now smell one of those rich, business savvy and fake digital nomads from miles (and kilometres) away now. I know the ones who spend hours online - doing what - heaven knows, and I can tell that the authentic voices are becoming fewer and farther between. So much so, that the established bloggers who speak like real people are commended a little way too much for being real. Those bloggers who post actual content and real stories on their blog have become almost heroes. And when I travel around the world, talking to the other people who also travel the world, at the end of the day most just want something real to read. I'm gonna do my best to keep it real.