Black and blue clouds shapeshift across the sky. They seem to be threatening rain. But we haven’t had rain for months, and it’s not in the forecast until next week. So while these clouds look like they mean business, I’m doubtful I’ll hear the comforting patter of rain as I settle in for the night. Still, I’m glad to see them.

I’ve needed a break from the constant, glaring LA sun. The relentless heat exhausts me, and I’m convinced that all this squinting into the sun is contributing to the lines that seem to be taking up permanent residence on my. Little pathways—like passages of time—cementing themselves on my body instead of washing away with my makeup at the end of the day.

A Blanket of Fog

Besides the physical discomfort of LA summers, there’s something about the persistent heat and the harsh sun that feels oppressive. You’d think that with all the sun and vitamin D, this move to LA would have lifted my spirits. After all, I left behind a different constant—the grey, often bone-chilling fog of San Francisco.

And yet, on the rare mornings when the marine layer manages to curl over the Hollywood Hills and settle in our backyard here in Burbank, I feel overwhelmingly comforted. I feel at home. And not just because the blankets of fog bring me right back to my flat in SF, it’s also because sometimes I need something other than the unending sunshine to fit my mood. And foggy mornings and moody, cloudy evenings are definitely fitting the bill.

La La Land

When James and I first saw the almost Oscar-winner La La Land, I’d spent enough time in LA to understand the little jokes and jabs about the city and “the industry” that were threaded throughout the film. In the opening number, the chorus sings:

I’m reaching for the heights

And chasing all the lights that shine

And when they let you down

You’ll get up off the ground

‘Cause morning rolls around

And it’s another day of sun

As the scene ends, the word WINTER flashes onto the screen, letting you know that this is not a bright June afternoon, it’s just a typically sunny winter day in LA. The joke got plenty of laughs when we first saw them film at the ArcLight in Hollywood, but it didn’t find as obvious a landing in SF when we saw it a second time with friends in the Mission. That joke, though, is not the most poignant part of that opening scene. The song, “Another Day of Sun,” speaks right to the heart of what so many people in this city experience. They’re trying so hard to achieve their dreams, they’re reaching for approval, they’re chasing the latest trendiest thing. And when all of that lets them down, they have to get back up and do it again because the sun is shining and there’s simply no hiding from the day.

While I may not be chasing fame or pursuing the LA dream in the traditional sense, I seek approval and work hard at my corporate job for very similar reasons. I don’t want to let anyone down—and I certainly don’t want to let myself down.

But there are mornings and afternoons and evenings where the pressure is just too much, and all I want is to be cozy and calm and quiet. I don’t want another day of sun. I want the fog and the clouds and the rain. I want permission to stay inside and to be still.

Seasons Change

Unfortunately, we don’t really get that here. While the temperature may dip into the 60s in the coming months, we won’t get fall colors or piles of leaves. We won’t pull on our boots and bundle up against the cold. Perhaps that’s why I’m so excited for my college reunion in a couple weeks. Only a few friends from my graduating class can make it, but I can show James where I went to school, see all that’s changed, and experience fall. True fall.

We’ll wear sweaters and scarves and go apple picking in the green bluffs of Eastern Washington. We’ll eat cider donuts and sip on whiskey and hold each other close against the cold. We’ll linger in bed, staying cozy and warm until we absolutely must get up and embrace the day.

Our trip won’t be perfect, but I know it’s going to do my soul some good. And I hope that when we return, there will be rain and clouds and (fingers crossed) at least one thunderstorm. Because I need my environment to feel like I do—varied and changing. Sometimes bright and warm, but on other days melancholic and moody. I need to feel like me.