June arrived, and I was ready for it. I had been counting down the days until I could leave the purgatory that Los Feliz represented for me. The bad lonely-girl juju of my apartment sublet. The swath of screenwriters and actors furiously seeking their big break…and possibly being ready to do anything to get it. My solitary walks around Vermont Ave, Hillhurst Avenue, Hollywood Blvd. Bad dates with nice people.

My landlord had taken a job writing for Comedy Central in NYC, and she was back packing her life away. She procured the registration for the car, the little Prius nightmare – soon the lease would be transferred to me, or so I thought. Not so soon.

I packed up my little life into my two suitcases. The big silver one has a big turtle and a turtle-like shell pattern molded around the sides. One wheel hasn’t completed fallen off, but it has lost 99% of its structural integrity. I thought about that Sunday in Palermo a year ago when my original suitcase, the one I had hauled all over the world, had broken. I lugged the bulging 50+ lb suitcase through the cobblestone streets with no data plan to guide me to the hotel I had booked that morning. I arrived dead. Tired. Wondering if I should push myself to explore the contours of a shuttered Palermo on Sunday. I needed a suitcase. I needed it that day. And so this shop magically appeared before me like a mirage. It was open until 8pm. Even more surprising.

The little suitcase was my companion across airports, most often the Tuesday 6am flight to Chicago and the flight later that week back home to NYC. Green, sleek, also broken, but a lighter carry-on that was easier to mask.

I wonder if these broken suitcases are a metaphor for my life. All the wear and tear over such a short period. The obliviousness to the external. Speed over protecting craftsmanship and the details. Must get to the destination – that trumps all. I thought about my parents and the suitcases they had probably kept in pristine condition for 2 decades.

As I packed to leave my second home in LA in Los Feliz, I gathered up my sparse belongings, which had already started to proliferate, into these suitcases with the overflow of old journals and winter-wear heading into Trader Joe’s paper shopping bags. I loaded up by little gray Prius, which had not survived 3 months with me unscathed, and set the GPS for Venice, CA. I remembered someone once describing his sister. “She couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag.” Not quite flattering, but I wondered who would win the “finding your way out of a paper bag” competition between the two of us.

There was a reason why I had to arrive late in the night. Following instructions, I went through the back gate and up the steps where the door had been left unlocked for me. Home. My nest. A safe and beautiful place for me to start the next chapter of my life. I truly felt happy, and I regretted in advance every second that I might have to leave this nest. The trip to the supermarket. Yoga class. Visits inland to my now distant LA friends. I wanted to cocoon myself there forever.

The form factor of the apartment was questionable and potentially made for a hobbit. I stuffed my clothing where I could into the closet and drawers that were not meant or built to hold clothes. Then I sat in the living room, on the couch that didn’t seem designed for being situated right there. The lighting was not made for living in the dark. It was like a cave, like living by lantern only in the old days. Nothing else to do but sleep.

And why did I love this place so much? I woke up the next morning to birds chirping and sunshine flowing in from all sides. Every piece of art was purposeful and beautiful, now that I could fully examine it in the light. There was a sunroom to my right with a little table that looked out onto the street. Green tree leaves swayed in front.

Perfection. I tentatively stepped outside and took a right looking at Google Maps’s arrow to make sure I was going in the right direction. A few blocks later, I was on the beach dancing and swaying with the palm trees. I wished I could stay there forever.

My two months there passed, and I came out of my little turtle shell. This new sense of place transformed me. I was no longer cloistered in lonely girl mode. I was meeting people all around, open people. I was going to parties and daily BBQs and walking through the canals.

My Tinder action was strong. I decided that nothing I had been doing had really been working, so I decided take a different approach and swipe and talk to people I normally wouldn’t talk to. I met someone who only wanted to date casually, and he is one of the most wonderful people and presences in my life right now. I went on a date with a couple, which was different (more to come on that later).

Days were loose and free. My night were party-filled or peaceful. I started cooking. I put on flip flops and led the beach life. I spent my days working on the startup that didn’t really seem to be going anywhere except in our minds.

Every moment and phase serves a purpose.