The first time I drove on the highway was to tell my girlfriend to love her. At this point, he had lived in Los Angeles for four years. “You can't No He drove in Los Angeles, ”they all said when I moved here. But I worked from home and lived relatively close to most of my friends. I had Lyft and Uber, a tap card and a deranged limit the love of walking. My excuse was that I did not have a car and I could not afford to buy one, which was not a lie. But the real reason was that I was afraid to drive and I had decided to succumb to that fear.
He was not always an anxious driver. Growing up in Massachusetts, I obtained my license at 16 and sailed in the 1979 Peugeot of my grandmother who had a door in operation and would not have passed a security inspection. But I felt invincible. Then I became a neurotic adult with a growing list of rational and irrational fears, from strange head and mold pain to being casual known in the grocery store.
In my 30 years, I developed a terrible flight phobia. “It's much safer than driving in a car!” People said it comforts me. So I investigated a little. This did not calculate my fear of flying, but he succeeded in becoming afraid of driving. I lived in New York City at that time, where being a non -conduct was easy. In Los Angeles, it was less easy, but I made it work.
When I was single, I appreciated that appointment applications would allow me to classify possible location coincidences. I established my limit to “Within five miles” of my apartment in West Hollywood and tried to manifest an ideal partner who would live within this perfectly reasonable radio. This was somewhat complicated. My first boyfriend in Los Angeles moved from the happy to Eagle Rock six months in our relationship, and we separated. There were other problems, but the distance was the drop that filled the glass.
Eventually I got a car, but my intense fear of the huge and extensive ducts of chaos known as Los Angeles highways restricted me. The lanes come and go. The outputs appear out of nowhere. And everyone drives as if they were auditioning for “The Fast and the Furious.” So I took surface streets everywhere, even when I doubled my driving time. I got quite comfortable behind the steering wheel whenever I remained in my little security bubble. Then I fell in love.
Spencer and I met 14 years ago through a nearby mutual friend when we both lived in Brooklyn. Our friend had convinced her so much that she was nervous to meet her as if she were a celebrity, but immediately made me feel comfortable. She is safe and comfortable in her skin, but there is also warmth that makes people feel safe. At that time, I was just sober, and feeling comfortable, especially around someone who had just known, was weird.
Not long after we met, he moved to Philadelphia, and our lives were in different directions. She was starting the Medicine School. I was writing for an addiction website and doing foot comedy. She lived with her long -term girlfriend. I was trying to date the most emotionally available people than I could find, than my therapist (and every self -help book in Barnes & Noble) attributed to fear of privacy.
A decade later, we both ended in Los Angeles. He had broken with his girlfriend and was a resident in UCLA. I was taking script classes and walking everywhere. We send a text message several times to hang out, but then the Covid-19 pandemic coup, keeping it busy in the hospital and I occupied at home sprinkling my groceries with chlorox. Multiple vaccines later, we finally met at the AMC Theater at the Century City Mall. As he remembered, he felt at home.
In the coming months, we went to about nine films together, our hands occasionally touched a shared cube of corn popcorn, before he finally had the courage to tell him that he had developed feelings for her. We would become close friends at this time, and bets felt alarmingly high. In addition, it was emotionally available. Territory unknown to me.
“YO as Like you, “I said a night while we were in my sofa watching” your enthusiasm error. “My voice trembled and also damping, because I was hiding under a blanket.
This confession was one of the most frightening things I have done, and I have done many scary things: I got sober, stood up in front of my whole family (they do not recommend it), it goes so strange to a lot of conservatives Midesterners on a trip in general (a girl took a selfie with me and sent it to her mother with the note, “I know a bisexual and she is really pleasant!”) “).”). “).”). “).”). “).”). “).”). “).”). “).”). “). But I learned in recovery that sometimes, when something is scary, we are destined to run towards him instead from him. That night, Spencer took out the blanket from my head and told me that I felt the same.
This beautiful and confident doctor of “bubble” had a red flag. She lived in Santa Monica, at the end of a six -mile stretch on the 10th highway on the side streets, arriving from my apartment to her could take up to an hour or more in traffic. After a few months, we were seeing so often that the trip had become unmanageable.
Also unmanageable were my feelings. One night, about four months after our relationship, I told two nearby friends who loved Spencer but was afraid to tell him. The absence of these words had become a weight among us, triggering small insecurities and fights. My friends urged me to tell him and thought he should do it That night (We had been seeing “Yellowjackets” and we felt a bit dramatic). I felt emboldened. But it was 10 at night on a night of work and it would take 45 minutes to get home on my usual route.
I called her. “I'm coming!” I said. Twenty minutes later, I was merging with the 10. But when I arrived at the Spencer apartment, I referred to adrenaline and the rush of having conquered my fear. Had driven in 10 – at night. I could survive anything. I told her that I loved her. She said it back. I didn't even hide under a blanket.
This was two years ago. Since then, I have driven 10 hundreds of times between Spencer's apartment and mine. Now we live together, which significantly reduces the trip. I still prefer a side street, but I will take the highway if necessary. Since dominating the 10, I have also challenged Highway 5, Highway 101 and even the 405 highway. Spencer always tells me that I am “brave.” I'm starting to believe him.
The author is a writer, editor and comedian based in Los Angeles and Coanfrerion of the podcast “all my only children.” She is on Instagram and threads: @maywilkerson
Los Angeles Affairs Chronices The search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the Los Angeles area, and we want to listen to their real history. We pay $ 400 for a published essay. Email [email protected]. You can find presentation guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
