The Greener Grass

I think I was into my fourth martini on Friday when I blurted it out-
“I need to move to LA and find myself.”
I’m not sure why I said it or where it came from.
But it's starting to make sense.

You see, I've been feeling a little lost lately. I’ve lived in New York, Miami, Madrid, Washington DC, Louisville, and a tiny town in Montana.
To me, L.A. is the only spot missing…and therefore, I’m convinced it’s the Promised Land.

“En vino de veritas,” Peter says. There’s truth in wine.
I think he’s right.

In fact, I’ve planned the great escape a thousand times over in my head:

Scenario #1
I move to L.A. I bust my buns for 2 years looking for the perfect job, only to find myself penniless and homeless on the streets of a foreign city. And worst of all, I’m older.

Scenario #2
I move to L.A. I bust my buns for 2 years, find a job I like, and realize that I miss my friends and family back home more than I realized. So I quit, return to Washington/Baltimore and start over. Again, I’m older.

Scenario #3
I move to L.A. I bust my buns for 2 years, find a job I LOVE. I decide to never come back and live my life in perfect bliss. Forever.

Sure.

An ex-boyfriend once had a saying that stuck:
“Wherever you go, there you are.”

Translation:
Happiness and fulfillment aren’t found on a map.