The biggest lie ever told.
One of my best friends is moving to California in a week, and part of me wishes I was with her.
LA may have started as a fluff barstool conversation, but it grew into something more over the summer. We worked our asses off at a flagship restaurant on the Boston waterfront. Sent countless SnapChats back and forth ridiculing the long hours spent on our feet at the hands of needy Bostonian guests. We slept late, ate crap, and tried to make room for an occasional social interaction. But, it was worth it. Because everything we worked for, all the money we saved, was with one place in mind. A common goal we shared until my plans changed.
I wanted LA so badly. And I wanted to share it with my friend. She gets me…in all the ways a friend could. I don’t need to see or talk to her every day; more often than not we’re off doing our own thing. It’s why we get along so well.
So, watching her head out will kind of sting. An incredibly selfish, unjustified sting – but a sting nonetheless. Because a part of me is scared I’ll never make it out there with her, that something else will turn me around and shoot me in a different direction. I was so sure I would be in LA with her by now. But, I’m in Tortuguero, dedicating the next year of my life to travel. You can make plans, really concrete plans, but life has a funny way of doing whatever the fuck it wants.
Good luck to my best friend. You don’t need it, but isn’t that what you’re supposed to say to someone who’s about to try something new, something scary? I can say what everyone else has said: if anyone can do it, it’s you. Or I can tell you to stop second guessing yourself, it doesn’t suit you, and get the hell out of Boston because I hear it’s already snowing. Just don’t forget about me over here. There’s only so much time I can go without someone who shares my love for cavapoos and Grey’s Anatomy.
J Rock the Boat goes to LA. Watch out World.