Reflecting on 4 years in LA: An Ongoing Story
Over the weekend, I celebrated my 4th anniversary of living in Los Angeles at one of my favorite places–if not my favorite place–in the city.
I moved to Los Angeles in the midst of the lockdown. I knew 2 people, both of whom moved a month after I got here. I knew I was moving into an LA that looked different than its normal self–all of the entertainment and art that I was coming for was at a standstill. When things began to open up again, one of the first venues to do so was the Hollywood Bowl.
An LA Welcome
That first night back to seeing a live performance, I had the immense privilege of seeing Gustavo Dudamel and the Los Angeles Philharmonic play one of my favorite pieces in the world: George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. Two nights later, I was back at the Bowl to hear Dudamel and company play Dvorak’s Symphony No. 9, Songs for a New World–a piece that holds incredible meaning for me because it is beloved by both me and my father.
Words can’t describe the ephemeral experience (though I did spend 10 minutes trying) of listening to the world class ensemble play these two pieces as my first live artistic performances after a long 15 months of Zoom performances. It was nearly a year after I moved to Los Angeles, and I was finally able to do the things that I came out here for: be around art and be inspired. And truly, there is nothing more inspiring than sitting under the stars and letting the music envelope me. I had arrived.
The bittersweet nostalgia of the old story
These concerts, though awe-inspiring, also held a tinge of bittersweet nostalgia. While I had been enjoying creating my new life in LA over the previous year, pursuing my writing dreams, it had also been over a year since I performed as a musician. I walked out of a choir classroom on March 12, 2020, not knowing that I wouldn’t get to finish out my final year of being a choir teacher. As I have talked about many times, being a choir teacher was my life during my years of grad school and teaching. It was how I defined myself. Everything that made me me.
In choosing to leave choir teaching, I was leaving my understanding of myself behind and forging a new one, one that aligned more with how I saw myself as a storyteller. That said, music was a big part of my development as an artist and–especially these two pieces. I had written papers on both Rhapsody in Blue and Songs for A New World when I was in college about the stories the composers told through the music. Because music is storytelling. As I would often tell my students: music is nothing if it’s not communication.
It was just no longer the way I wanted to tell stories.
I think I had always known that writing was my preferred storytelling medium, even if I tried a few other avenues first. In fact, though I decided I wanted to be a choir teacher at 16, I spent my free time writing a script of what can only be considered “Self fanfiction”, detailing my path to teaching at a prestigious high school choir program and what my life would look like. Less helpful for practical music performance than practicing the piano.
So, there I was in this iconic venue, celebrating the new life I was establishing for myself while reflecting on the life I left behind. Because at that moment, I still wasn’t sure where I was going. I knew I wanted to write, but I wasn’t sure how. I had dreamed of writing comedy, but as I learned more about the industry, I wanted to have more control over my life and schedule–that was one of the main reasons I left teaching, after all. I was about to start as a content writer at a startup, which was great because it was a steady paycheck, but it wasn’t really the type of writing that fit with my soul. I was at a crossroads, and I was still unsure if I made the right decision with my life.
Welcoming the next chapter
This past weekend, almost three years to the day later, I was back at the Hollywood Bowl to celebrate my 4th anniversary in Los Angeles. This time, I was seeing Sara Barellis and Renee Elise Goldsberry, two women whose music and performances have been a big part of my life in LA (Girls5Eva 4 lyyyyfe).
I have been to some pretty incredible shows at the Hollywood Bowl (Steve Martin and Martin Short, Patti Lupone and other Broadway legends singing Sondheim, John Williams conducting John Williams), but this was the most crowded I have ever seen the Bowl–and the atmosphere was electric. The whole evening was a celebration of female friendship, self-belief, and the twists and turns through life.
I am not very familiar with Renee Elise Goldsberry’s music outside of Hamilton or Girls5Eva, so it was a delight to hear her sing some songs she wrote and some other Broadway and soul favorites (including a funk rendition of “You’ll Never Walk Alone”). She also included a “Satisfied” sing-a-long in which 18,000 members of the audience did a great job shouting for the revolution.
In her set, she talked about her journey to get to that stage, the role model she hopes to be for her daughter, and the genuine friendship and respect she has for Sara Barellis. While she had probably rehearsed her transitions, what she said felt so impromptu, so genuine and real–she was just having a conversation of 18,000 of her closest friends.
Then, Sara Barellis came on.
A lesson in authenticity
Like most girls of my generation, “Love Song” was an anthem for me, but I forgot how many Sara Barellis songs I knew and how relatable her lyrics were. But it’s not only the lyrics that are relatable–she’s relatable. Despite being a bonafide Broadway and TV star, Sara Barellis is true to who she is, through and through. Throughout the evening, she mentioned the fact that her family was in the audience, along with many of her friends. For several songs, she brought members of her A Cappella group up on stage to sing some of her earliest songs along with her. This loyalty and devotion to true friends was a theme that reverberated throughout the evening as she celebrated the entire crew (including the person who had to come fix her mic pack) and the musicians who wrote and played the orchestrations.
Several times through the night, I turned to my friends and said “I could be her friend” because she was genuine and human. In fact, during one song, she forgot the words to her own song. She started to sing again, and then admitted she was so in her head that she couldn’t remember the words. Relatable. Then, she asked a fan who knew the words to come up on stage and help her sing. There was no ego at all – she was a person sharing the stage and sharing art with an audience. A masterclass in connecting with the people who are there for you.
Embracing the journey
She finished out the night with two of my favorites of her songs: “Brave”, dedicated to a friend of hers going through a hard time, and “She Used to Be Mine” from Waitress. Before “She Used to Be Mine”, she explained how that song changed her life. Yes, she was a celebrated musician before, but that song opened up so many new doors, and she is no longer the person she is before she wrote it–which is kind of the message of the song: we hold aspects of the person we once were, but we change and there are things we gain and things we lose.
As soon as she started the song, I found myself crying. I am no longer the person I was before I moved to LA. I have shed many layers of self-doubt, people pleasing, and general anxiety over the last 4 years. I also gave up moments of connection and mentorship I had with my students that meant so much to me, and I no longer make music every day. I have learned that while I value stability in some ways, I need freedom over my own schedule and my own life. I have tried out corporate life, and I don’t think climbing the corporate ladder is for me. I have lived by myself. I have lived with others. I have made friends. I have lost friends. I made new ones again. I have explored and I have stayed home.
Mostly, I have realized it is imperative for me to embrace my artistic spirit and how storytelling and connection are vital to who I am: I am searching for meaning and connection in everything I do. That’s the reason I started my brand storytelling business, after all. It’s a means of marketing, yes, but it’s about being human and connecting with an audience. Which, really, is all I want at the end of the day.
I left the concert, looking forward to the future, not quite sure of what it will hold, but I know that I’ll find my way through with stories, connection, and love.
