Episode 2: Don’t Stop Believin’

 Hold on to that feelin’

It’s my two week anniversary in sunny Los Angeles. Still no Childish Gambino sighting however,  I have engulfed a hell of a lot of tacos.

So, I promised myself  I would be real and true while writing this blog… Let me tell you, my first week in LA… I was completely and utterly miserable.  I felt  uncomfortable, homesick,  and a lot of anxiety. Then it clicked.  For the past decade I’ve been completely surrounded by people who looked… well, like me.  I attended a Historically Black College, upon graduating I moved to Crown Heights, Brooklyn. If you’ve never been to Crown Heights, just imagine a 1 mile wide, 2 mile long neighborhood compacted with  Jamaicans, Trinidadians and Haitians. It wasn’t until I walked around my new Koreatown neighborhood that I realized. Damn, I’m Black!

Then,  I had my first Saturday night alone in my gentrified KTown pad. I blame it all on  Snapchat.  One of my favorite social media outlets to partake in. I get an inside look into my friends lives for few seconds or sometimes minutes for the vain ones. While my comrades on the east coast were enjoying day parties, baby showers and weddings.  I was sipping cheap wine, watching Seinfeld and writing “can I PLEASE work with you” emails to my favorite filmmakers. The whole while, wishing I was 3000 miles closer to my friends.

Not to mention,  my 9-5 is gone. Steady hours, steady income. You know I actually looked in my bank account last pay period in hopes my boss maybe forgot to take me off payroll…Guess what?

He did not..

I know what you’re thinking.. stop whining right? I came out here to chase a career I’ve been lusting over for years. After waiting an hour for my good friend to pick me up from the Pacific Ocean Coast (Because of the traffic of course) I  walked along the beach. A four mile walk to be exact.. Did I mention the traffic in LA is horrendous? I  looked out into the Pacific and I just gasped.  I did it. I made it all the way here. Why am I complaining, why am I hiding from this city, why am I not trying to be great?

PCH2

Pacific Ocean Coast.

 

I finally had the courage to move and I was spending  my time in my room or on the balcony smoking splifs. This is NOT what I came out here to do. Well the smoking splifs on the balcony, yes.  But you get what I’m tryin’ to say.

After I got home from my walk on the beach I went to bed, woke up and didn’t leave the house for another two days. Mainly because my legs felt like noodles,(it was a really long walk.) The other part was that fear kicking my ass again.

On day 11 I received a response from one of the filmmakers I emailed. The one that has  actually inspired me the most. Her content is authentic and genuine. That woman knows how to engage an audience and tell a story.

She responded with  modesty and appreciation and for the last few days I’ve been a Script Supervisor for her upcoming series.

Two weeks ago, I was watching the very same director’s show on my work computer when I should have been typing and filing. Now,  I’m on her set, doing what I love, what I sought out to do. You know all I had to do was just believe in myself. Have a little confidence in what I want to accomplish. How dare I come out here being a scary cat. This is what I was meant to do.

Is difficult adjusting to another city? Hell yes, I miss the convenience of New York, I miss knowing where I’m going and getting there in the New York minute. I miss the Bodega,  I miss the girls from my old job, my mommy!

Oh, and  I miss the hell out of my friends. My friends however, have been the most supportive, confidence boosters ever. Not only my friends, women I went to college with, my family, ex-boo’s.  They believe wholeheartedly I can do this. They’ve been uplifting me in ways they never have before. If they know I can do it. I can do it.

This journey to becoming a comedy writer WILL NOT be easy. I have a lot of work to put in. I have to keep writing, stay ready, prayed up and focused. Only I can make this dream become a reality. Stay tuned…Keep Believing.

 

 

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