Yet for all our differences, fundamentally we are the same person. We share thoughts, attitudes, favorite actors and movies, an odd love for Shakespeare, and so many other random things that I swear I've found my soul mate in her. She gets me, and there is no judgment, no competition, just two women who live to support each other.
"Fun, yeah, not so much. Yesterday I went for an interview at TJ Maxx," I say, feeling rather sorry for myself.
"Oh, honey, come home!" Rachel cries out.
"No. I can't do that. I need to figure out a way to start over. I need to learn to be happy with my life. You know that."
She nods in understanding. She's listened to my late night rants about how unfair life is, about how, try as I might, I cannot seem to steer my life in a direction that pleases me. I'm on a quest to find fulfillment, and it is a terrifying journey. I have no idea where to begin, or how it will end. But I won't let that stop me from taking it.
As if sensing me spinning into a philosophical spiral, Rachel lightens the mood. "So, have you joined a gym yet? Thrown any exercise balls at the hotties?" We both laugh at this inside joke as I shake my head and mutter a soft, "Screw you!" under my breath.
Long story short, I have an uncanny knack for dropping balls when I'm working out. Whether they are those big exercise balls you sit on, or large medicine balls, or the smaller weighted ones you use for abs and arms - you name it, I've dropped it and had it either hit me, or an unsuspecting fellow gym member. One time it happened to be this guy that I had a total crush on. It was mortifying.
"I like my little place at least," I say, trying to think of something positive to say so she won't worry too much.
"You mean your garage?" she asks dubiously.
"Yes," I say, deciding to own it. "My detached, well-furnished garage on an awesome street in Santa Monica, California."
"Alright, alright," Rachel lifts her hands, surrendering.
"I think I've done a good job and it really feels like I have four little rooms. Here, check it out," I say as I stand with my laptop and slowly pass the camera around the room.
"Nice job, Sweetie. What else have you been up to?"
"Well, I'm settling into a little routine," I say. "I wake up around 7am and head to Coffee Bean for some much needed caffeine."
"What, no Starbucks?" Rachel asks in mock horror. We both relied on a steady stream of caffeine to make it through our graduate work – me in a master's program, her in law school - and we are now officially addicted.
"Yes, we have Starbucks, but the Coffee Bean is way better. They have this café mocha that is to die for!"
Rachel gives me yet another doubtful look but this time holds her tongue, so I continue.
"They have comfy seating, so I generally spend a couple hours there doing a daily check on various online job sites and then catching up on social media. Oh my god, speaking of which, did you see Emilie's new hair color? How could she cover up her beautiful ginger? I'm not digging it." Actually, I don't care that much about Emilie's hair color – to each her own. I simply miss seeing and talking to, and about, my friends, so I'm willing to glom onto just about anything.
"I did see it," Rachel says. "I like it. It makes her look more sophisticated."
"Of course you like it," I say. "You like everything."
"Shut up, I do not. Oh, but I did love that picture of the sunset you posted yesterday. It is so gorgeous there, I'm totally jealous," she says enthusiastically.
I nod and sigh. "Yeah, well, that's kinda the point. I'm miserable but I don't want people to know that, so I post all these pretty pictures so people will think life is fantastic out here."
"Kelli! Dammit! Come home then!" Rachel demands.
"No, I'm sorry, I'm being melodramatic," I say. "It's really not that bad. I promise. I really do love my little place, it's comfy and I can look out into the garden. It doesn't feel at all like I'm living in one of the most populated cities in the country.
I've already made friends with a couple of the baristas at the Coffee Bean, so I have a friendly face to say hi to each morning. Plus, there is plenty of eye candy at the gym. The job hunting, well, that really does suck though."
"Why did you apply to TJ Maxx? Why not apply for something at one of the colleges?" Rachel asks.
"I know it's stupid, but I really don't want to get stuck again. It's easy to get comfortable making a good salary and being in a stimulating environment. If I work at TJ Maxx, I'm certain I won't get stuck," I say the last bit with feeling.
"Kel, if your job at the university paid well and was stimulating, I don't understand why you left it," Rachel says gently, as if trying to reason with a small child. "Universities educate the future generation, certainly that has to count as making a contribution to the greater good."
"I said the environment was stimulating, not the job," I clarify. "As for the role of the university in society, sure, it does great things. But I wasn't doing great things. I was an administrator; I didn't have a direct role in anything."
"You helped run the -" Rachel begins, but I don't let her finish.
"It's like saying you work for a law firm that does a ton of pro bono work. You can argue that your billable hours count towards the firm's profit margin and therefore you are a part of helping those receiving the free legal counsel. But unless you are actually working on one of the pro bono cases, you don't get that satisfaction of helping someone. You don't feel like you are making a difference in someone's life.
I want to directly effect change, Rae. I don't want to only be a part of the structure that enables it. Doesn't that make sense?" I ask, hoping she'll understand.
"Of course it does, honey. I'm sorry, I know you need this change. I just miss you and want you to come home," Rachel says.
"Yeah, well, I need to conquer L.A. first," I say with a smile.
Rachel and I chat for another few minutes before the demands of her children begin to come fast and furious and I feel guilty for keeping her from her family.
"Give my love to the hubby and the rug rats," I say, winding down the conversation. "You should get to them."
"No," Rachel says. "I can keep talking!"
"Really, Rae," I assure her, "I'm good. I miss you, I love you, and I'll call as soon as I have anything newsworthy to share. I promise."
"Alright," she says reluctantly. "I love you, too."
We disconnect and I sit for a moment thinking about Rachel. Although I feel lonely at the moment, I don't really feel alone. Rachel is always there for me, as are my mother and sisters, and we can't forget my urban tribe. I have a network of people who love and care for me. I suppose it is because of them that I was able to make this crazy life change. If I stumble, they'll pick me up, and that is a very reassuring thought.
******
Two weeks quickly turn into three and I still haven't found a job. My daily routine of coffee, job searching, fraudulently optimistic social media posts, and then the gym, has become a little depressing. I've tried seeing a few sights around town, but navigating the public transit system is daunting, and everything takes so damn long. I went out to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and it took nearly two hours to go about ten miles.
As a result, I've been spending a lot of time holed up in my apartment, trying to figure out how to break out of this new rut I've already gotten myself into. I tell myself that once I get a job, things will change. I'll have an income, I'll get a car, I'll make friends, yadda yadda yadda. For right now, I'll keep watching the West Wing. Aaron Sorkin is a god and I love the rapid fire banter. Plus, I need something to stimulate my brain with since I'm not working or doing anything particularly productive with myself.
Halfway through episode 6 of season 3, I decide enough is enough. Screw it, I'm going out. I've never been one to go out at night by myself, but I am so bored that I can't stand it. Besides, the whole point of this move is to turn over a new leaf, to live life in a different way.
I hop off my bed and take the necessary 11 steps into the shower. I wash my hair, shave everything (just in case, you never know), and use my expensive Coco Chanel body wash. I spend an unprecedented 25 minutes on my hair, blowing and straightening my locks until they are splendidly silky, and worthy of a Pantene commercial. I do the full gamut of make-up – foundation, powder, blush and liberal amounts of eyeliner. I'm not very good at it, as I rarely spend more than seven minutes on my appearance in the morning, but this is L.A. and I've got to up my game.