It Is Done

So as of midnight tonight, my lease is up on my Hollywood apartment. I no longer rent two homes, and I am no longer tied to anything in Los Angeles.
In the short 3 weeks that I have been in San Diego, I have come to see that this was, indeed, a very good thing.
Sure, I said the same thing about coming back from Boracay to Hollywood, but that was akin to Romeo's mad love upon seeing Juliet, a girl he knew nothing of. I knew nothing of what life would be like in Hollywood. And it wasn't me.
San Diego, however, is me. It reminds me so much of the beach in Huntington where I grew up. After all, the beach is an 11 minute drive from my apartment. The harbor is even closer. I have missed that ocean energy. San Diego reminds me of the city-not-city vibe of Long Beach, where I spent 15 years of my life quite happily. Being able to walk to restaurants, being close to bars, living in a college town where I could check out hot boys walking around and playing volleyball at the beach and soccer in the parks all year long. Working in San Diego reminds me of happy times with a district that valued and respected me. San Diego reminds me of a lot of good things.
And it is bringing some good things out in me - I'm driving around exploring. 160218-Background-002My photography challenge has me going to Balboa Park, to the Harbor, to the flight path of airplanes coming into San Diego International Airport, to small neighborhoods with quaint shops serving specialty goods. It's even opened me up to meeting people. I've been on a date and I've met some new bear-friends. And this week coming up promises to be filled with more new-ness: I'm planning to go to an art studio tomorrow night to photograph nude models, then Friday going to Bearracuda at Mo's Bar and Grill in Hillcrest, then Saturday is a bridge hike for photographers, and Sunday is an old man coffee group (Gays over 40) that I'm thinking about visiting. I'm feeling alive again. For some reason, I come alive in strange places when I'm on my own. Put me downstairs from a good friend, and I won't leave my apartment for months. Put me alone in a new town, and I'm all over it. Go figure. How can I be sure this is real? For a start, I've lost 15.2 pounds since the start of the year, and I'm not even on a diet, or a juice fast, or exercising. I'm just… happier.
So while I inwardly feel badly for leaving my apartment something of a mess for the apartment manager to clean (well, we all know he doesn't really clean it, he just hires someone and then pays them out of my security deposit), I sigh a huge sigh of relief that Hollywood is behind me and San Diego and my future await. Ahead. In the future. Which is where the future is. Or when, rather. It's when the future is.
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