Sometimes when I look back on my life in L.A. I can’t believe I made it through. I remember early morning meetings that involved hourlong trips on the 10 to the 5 to the 710 in apocalyptic traffic jams, surrounded by roaring semis on all sides as I exited and entered the freeways and changed lanes. How did I survive?
I think it would be madness to put myself back there, but if I can’t find a reasonable job here, I’m not sure what I will do. Chuck it all and become a nanny and (self-published) writer?
I do feel happier currently than I have in a while, but I have to chalk that up to not working. In terms of place and my day-to-day emotional state, I probably could be just about as content in L.A., but making a living there is more stressful than doing so here.
I still of course get down these days; it’s just that I’m better able to nurse myself into a better mood when I don’t have to get up and get to a job. I can do a good hour of kundalini yoga instead.
I like what Lucretia Stewart has to say about happiness. I wrote about her earlier here:
And here she is today:
The causes of my anxiety are various: money, or the lack thereof, and getting older seem to be the main culprits.
Yet I don’t remember being free of anxiety when I was younger, and I don’t think that I would be happier if I had married, had children or led a more conventional life.