It's quite funny how people respond to me when I say that I "just moved here from Los Angeles." The, sort of, "Joe Working Guy" character gives me two consistent, standard responses: 1) [chuckle/snort/guffaw] "Now why would you do that?" and 2) (after I say how L.A. isn't "all that" because I'm trying to make the guy- and it's always a "guy"- feel better) "Yeah, you have those earthquakes out there. Man, I don't want any part of that." And the guy ends up feeling very fortunate that he is nestled in the safe comfort of the Southern Tier of New York State, far from Los Angeles and its 'quakes, wildfires, mudslides, and - one I hadn't heard until today at Jiffy Lube- "rolling blackouts" (I had forgotten about those, back in 2001! Thanks Gray Davis and Enron.)
This leads me to my own self-realization. I have very few "irrational fears," but in the past few years, I have noticed that I feel very claustrophobic in lots of daily situations. If I can't access a door to the fresh air and terra firma, I get antsy. (When I would visit the amazing highrise lofts in my favorite neighborhood- Downtown L.A.- I would always chafe at the fact that I couldn't get outside. And I don't mean "get to a fire escape," I mean- get to firm dirt in the open air.)
When I moved here, I was so surprised by how much I was guided by my own subconscious. Do you know that I can actually put precariously-placed heavy and/or (potentially)sharp objects above 5 feet in my house? Ah! The freedom to hang "real" art (i.e., framed, with glass) above my bed (this was verbotten in my house growing up)! And that I can stack books and china and other such objects in totally inappropriate (by California standards) places? Sooooo liberating.
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