Merry Christmas from Los Angeles.

The holidays are always hard when they're spent three thousand miles away from family (though I remember working many Christmas Eves and Christmases while in college [thank you, Walt Disney World]). Last year I was fortunate enough to be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas both, but this year it just wasn't doable.

Tonight I had to run to Target quickly (yes, I am one of those--this was the epitome of procrastination) to pick up some last minute things for tomorrow. As I hurried out my front gate to walk the short block and a half, I noticed how clear the sky was tonight. For LA, that's kind of a rarity. Just as I looked up, I noticed a plane flying with a red light flashing and instantly, my heart felt heavy.

Red flashing lights on planes are quite common, but tonight it took me back to memory I have when I was probably three years old. My brother was barely walking, so that sounds about right. We were all in our family room talking about Santa's arrival and discussing what we wanted for Christmas (this consisted of me rambling off my Christmas list and making up my brother's; I was his keeper for the first five years of his life [actually longer, but he'll never admit to that]).

My mother was desperately trying to put us to bed but I was still going on about Barbies for me and Matchbox cars for my "Cotty", as I referred to him because I just couldn't understand how to put an "S" in there.

In the moment, my Mom thought it would be neat to look out the window for Santa. As she's pulling back the curtain, I remember her saying, "We need to be on the lookout because if Santa comes and you're awake, he won't stop here. You have to be sleeping." My eyes went to the sky and I gasped in sheer terror and excitement.

There in the sky was a red flashing light. "It's Rudolph! Come on, 'Cotty!" I proceeded to drag my baby brother and try to herd my grandmother and parents out of the room and to bed. I wanted that Barbie, gosh darn it.

I laughed when I saw "Rudolph" in the sky tonight. But again, my heart felt heavy. Tonight, I'm not asking for a Barbie or a Matchbox car for my brother. Tonight, I'm so incredibly thankful for this magical thing they call Skype and for the long-winded phone calls my family holds with me to make me feel like I'm there.

I, also, remember my Mom telling me when I was little that she liked the idea that when two people in different parts of the country were looking at the moon late at night, they were looking at the same moon. It's like sharing a moment.

Tonight I'm looking at the moon and I hope they are too.

Merry Christmas, from Los Angeles.

The clouds paint the sky beautiful.

This morning, the sunrise was near perfect. The pinks and purples pitted the clouds and lifted away the navy and black from the night before. The clouds rolled out like a red carpet, almost, giving way to the rising sun and the Tuesday that sat before us. It was stunning; definitely one of my top five favorite sunrises (...is it lame that I can remember where and when my favorite sunrises were?). 

So you can imagine my surprise when I got to work and realized that amazing sunrise led to absolutely nothing. The sky was bleak and gray; the smog wasn't bad, but the clouds themselves hovered over the mountain tops and took away so much life from the buildings. The ice skating rink next to my office has been empty all day. No one wants to be outside; it's cold and dark and winter. 

All day, I was almost disappointed. I walked down to the beach on my lunch break to just get some fresh air, but it still just seemed so bleak. I was certain that even with such a stunning sunrise, the rest of the day would be downhill from there. That sunrise had given me hope, and that hope had seemingly led me to nothing.

Just about thirty minutes ago, I realized there was a glare on my computer from the sun. Surprised, I glanced out the floor-to-ceiling window behind my cubicle and had to do a double take. In the insanity and chaos of my work afternoon, I completely missed how the clouds had begun to dissipate and head out to sea, taking the sun with it. Just like this morning, they've rolled out like a carpet, almost. Now the yellows and oranges and pinks are coming through, illuminating the underbelly of the clouds. The sunshine is hitting the mountain tops, the buildings; there are people ice skating and the PCH is busy. It's still chilly, but the bleakness of the day is now gone.

And it's in this moment that I realize: sometimes we're covered with clouds. We have problems or drama or things that build up and cover our mountains, our buildings and our minds. But when we pull ourselves together and shine as bright as we can, we start to see our clouds in a different way. They aren't disheartening or problematic anymore; it's almost as if it's then that we can see just how beautiful life really is--even with the problems that seem to sometimes consume us like the clouds consume the mountaintops.

So take a breath and let it be. 

Life is kind of beautiful if you learn to see beyond the clouds.

Today was a really great day.

I spent five weeks working for Hollywood, and I hate it.

There is a huge part of me that feels crushed as I begin this entry.

Moving to California meant so much to me: glamour, red carpets, and I think, ultimately, I hoped I would find myself.

I tried to fight it. There were some cool moments--like talking with various producers, the Emmy awards, various interviews, admiring hair and make-up teams come in to make my boss look fabulous. But in the end? In the end I only felt exhausted--which led to me feeling bitter, angry, annoyed and set-back.

There are so many emotions all rolled into this, but all I can feel lately is that I want to cry.

I want to cry because this was what I wanted! I wanted to be in the middle of everything; I wanted everything to feel like it was working. And I pushed and forced and made it fit in this box until my box broke and everything fell apart.

And now I feel like this kid:

[I know, I know; this is the new "image" of the government shut down, so my usage for it probably seems way more pathetic. But still.]

I'm standing at the gate of Hollywood, and it's closed.

Not because this was "my only chance". There's a part of my heart that realizes there are a gazillion more chances out there. But there's another part of my heart that realizes the inevitable I never really thought I'd announce:

I hate Hollywood.

I hate everything about it.

It's fake, it's overrated, it's expensive, it's trashy, it's dirty, it's gross.

I love where I live; but I hate the city in which I want to work and produce and interact with people.

So now here I am at this brick wall, once again.
Where do I go from here?
I fought for this "dream" I thought I had, but I'm beginning to realize I never really fully understood this dream until I came and explored it for myself. And maybe that's a good thing? Maybe we need to do that at some point in our lives. I know twenty years from now I'd always be wondering what could have been.

But my heart still feels sad.
Because ultimately, I think I knew who I was all along and Hollywood only made me forget that. I'm sad because I feel established here. I'm sad because I don't know where to go or what path I'm supposed to take. California was always so clear; so certain. And now? Now I feel like I'm standing in a corner surrounded by fog, and I have no idea who I'm supposed to be or where I'm supposed to go.

'Cause this was my one, last chance to breathe.

Honesty hour.

Had you asked me one month ago, I was ready to give up.

Actually, being honest? I think I had already given up and I was barely going through the motions of life and reality and being a human being. I kinda had this feeling of hopelessness; this feeling that everything I thought my life would become was dissolving and it was over. I had hit that grown-up moment where I realized dreams were merely dreams and fantasies, and would never amount to anything.

And then everything changed.

It was an insane process. I was asked to resign from my job where I had been employed for over a year and a half. I don't have anything bad to say about that company; I learned a lot of lessons and truly feel stronger in this moment. Besides, I hated everything about that place; I hated what I was doing, I hated being confined to an office, and I hated everything about accounting. I was doing everything I could to interview on my lunch breaks, before work or after work. So I was on my way out; I think I just would have preferred it being on my terms.

The positive about resigning is that the company offered me a two week notice, so I would continue to be paid for two weeks but would not come into the office. I was in ultimate panic mode. I applied for so many jobs, my e-mail inbox is littered with interview confirmations, call backs and rejections. I was determined to try to spend the eight hours a day I normally would at work, either interviewing, applying or searching for work.

Two opportunities presented themselves.
1. A sales position for a well-known recruitment firm worldwide that would compensate very well.
2. A personal assistant/nanny position for an actress in Hollywood that pays a little more than what I made before (but gives me room to travel with her while she goes to film on location, reading scripts as they come in to see if she'd be up for the role, coordinating with various big-time networks for her interviews, deciding on which dress she's going to wear to the Emmy awards and working with her agent and manager on getting her the best roles possible).

In my right hand, I held somewhat stability (office jobs are typically more stable and reliable than industry jobs). It felt safe. That was my comfort zone.
In my left hand, I held opportunity. It felt like a learning experience. I knew I'd be thrown out of my comfort zone.

I only deliberated on this for maybe an hour.
And then I decided to take the leap. Because maybe, just maybe, this is the path I was meant to take.
(Though I've learned that even if it's not, in order to survive we must keep moving and if we keep moving, eventually something will pan out).

My first day on the job was the last day my previous company was paying me. Funny how life works out :).

It's been a week so far. The hours have been long, the tasks have been creatively challenging (though I love that--I have seriously missed creative freedom), and working in Hollywood has been insane.

But...I love it?
And I genuinely feel in my heart that with the people I'm meeting, the experiences I'm having and the way this is working: my dream might not just be an unrealistic fantasy, after all.

Welcome to Hollywood, kid.

This path I've seemingly chosen.

The past week and a half has been the most difficult ten days I've encountered since I moved to Los Angeles to begin with. I find myself suffering through that same uncertainty; the pain of being away from home, the agony of trying to figure out what I'm doing with my life and the insanity of running through every, single life-option I could have chosen and trying to decide why I chose this one.

I've been beating myself up because I've taken all of this stress and frustration out on those closest to me and that's not fair. So I decided to write it all down. Because let's face it, words (as simple as they may seem) are my outlet and I have so much to express.

So many of my friends are getting married (or already are married), are having babies (or have babies), or are on some ridiculously, perfectly planned career path they've seemed to intricately map, plan and begin to journey.

And here I am: coming home from a job that I hate every day, popping a cup of ramen in the microwave because that's all that I have the energy to make, sitting on the couch watching NetFlix and going to sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. In the last few days, I've felt like I'm at this point in my life where nothing makes sense anymore.

A little over two years ago, I packed up my car and moved to California like it was nothing. Seriously. It was literally a no-brainer and I still have no clue why it was so simple or why I was strangely unfazed by what I was doing. Somehow, something inside of me decided that this was what I was going to do and so I did it. Fast-forward to present day: and here I am. I survived the daunting experience of becoming a transplant in one of the most expensive cities in the United States.

This is the point in which I've been awkwardly twiddling my thumbs and asking: "...now what?"

So today I was over it. I'm tired of waking up every day and feeling like I haven't grown up since I've been here. I'm tired of asking myself why.

So I pulled myself out of my apartment and to my car and started driving. At first, I wasn't really sure where I was going...but I just started driving anyway.

I ended up on the corner of 7th and Gramercy--in the heart of Koreatown. Koreatown is a section of downtown Los Angeles, which is where I moved when I first found myself in LA. It was all I could afford (in fact, I could only afford to sleep on a twin-sized air mattress on the floor of practically a stranger in her studio apartment). I parked and walked around; it was familiar but at the same time it felt distant. This was a part of my life that I remember counting every penny and pushing myself to find something stable; a job that would just get me through. I dreamt of getting out of K-Town. But I was hopeful, and I knew some day I would.

And I did. And then I found a group of friends who made me feel like family. So I got back in my car and found myself in the valley where I spent a year of my life. I parked across the street from the apartment my friend and I spent our days and nights in. Again, it was so familiar and yet, I felt different being there all this time later (as it's been just about a year as of tomorrow since I lived there). I remember not being able to go out very much because I lived so far away from Hollywood. I remember commuting to and from work; being in the "valley" meant trying to save as much money as I could to get out of the valley. I dreamt of getting out of the valley; and I knew that I eventually would.

And then I ended up back in West Hollywood in front of my apartment. This being the apartment where I can walk pretty much everywhere. We live across the street of the SLS, right next to the Beverly Center. I live in the city. I'm a quick drive to the sights of West Hollywood and Hollywood, itself (literally a $6 cab fare [with tip!]). I've enjoyed many nights on the rooftops of hotels, exploring different bars and restaurants. I've sat on my living room floor drinking wine with friends as we watched the sunrise creep up and illuminate the hills of Hollywood.

As I visited each spot I've landed myself in since I've been in California, I realized something. I'm not the same girl. And while all of my friends have built their lives beautifully, I've built mine, too--just in a different way. But it's a way that I've always known in my heart was meant for me. It's a way that I truly believe I was destined to be, otherwise driving to California wouldn't have felt so simple and so seamless.

So here I am, reminding myself that I'm where I'm supposed to be in this moment and that I have grown and that I am going to be okay.

Here's to learning to trust the path we've chosen, even if it is the "path less traveled".

And the award for Craziest Weekend of My Life goes to...

I had the greatest plans for this weekend.

I was going to paint. I was going to clean. I was going to celebrate Memorial Day weekend at a rooftop pool in downtown Los Angeles with friends.

And then Saturday night it hit me.

It wasn't awful, but the pain was bad enough that I had to question it. Heart disease has always played a role in my life. Fortunately for me, it's never played an outrageously big role...but it's always just sort of been there. So usually I don't even blink when I have a palpitation or I notice my breathing becomes a little labored. It's just always been kind of normal.

But Saturday night was different. I don't even really know why, something just didn't feel right.

However this is me we're talking about. I'm the girl that avoids the doctor for every excuse under the sun. "Oh, he'll probably just listen to my heart, run an EKG and send me on my merry way. Why waste my time and money?" or "I know it's going to be slammed in the waiting room; it's going to take too long to get back there anyway. Might as well just stay home."

And yes, I'm fully aware of how ridiculous I am and I'm thankful that something made me pick up my phone and dial the Anthem Blue Cross 24/7 Nurse line. My parents introduced this to me in college as a way to get a professional's opinion without actually going to the doctor right away.

After explaining my pain to the nurse (and downplaying it about 50%) and describing my heart disease (because no one ever knows what it is when I initially tell them), she said it was her professional opinion for me to hang up the phone and call 911.

As much as I wanted to say, "Slow your roll, Nurse Jackie." I refrained, and I listened to what she had to say. She said I was prone to premature heart attacks because of what my heart was doing and that it almost sounded like I was having early onset symptoms.

Insert automatic panic.

However, I still wasn't alarmed enough to call 911. I ended my call with her and casually texted my closest friends with, "Hey, can I call you really quick?" and, "Oh hey! What are you up to right now, out of curiosity?"

I have the world's greatest friends and two of them walked out of a movie theater and one (who was working) demanded updates and said he'd call when he left work.

SO I walked to the ER.
I still don't think I was grasping the idea that this could be serious? I think in my head I really just thought I was having an intense palpitation or something and all was fine. Thankfully, Cedars-Sinai is just two blocks from my house--so it really wasn't that far of a walk at all.

Immediately after hearing my symptoms, they whisked me back to run an EKG. Then I was hurried into the ER and ordered to sit on a gurney. From 10pm until 2:30am, it's really all a blur. IVs, tests, CT scans, multiple doctors and multiple nurses--and then I was informed I was being admitted.

And then I had to call my parents.
Calling your parents at 4 o'clock in the morning their time to tell them you're being admitted into a hospital because your heart is showing depressions on your EKG (which means signs of damage), is not an easy task. My parents handled this so well. I expected lots of tears and panic (which may have happened after I ended the call, I'll never know) but my mom and dad were so calm. They told me they could be on a plane in two hours and be in LA within eight, but I told them to wait until we knew more.

After being admitted to the hospital, I realized I needed to be there. My pulmonary artery is almost double the size of the average Joe's. Basically meaning that it works extra hard and pumps even harder than it should, and because it's so stretched there's a decent chance that once it hits a certain diameter, there could be rupture.

Growing up my cardiologist always said my magic number was 46mm. Forty-six was the number we wanted to never reach; and when it got to that point (well, he always said if it got to that point), we'd have to operate.

My CT showed my pulmonary artery's diameter was now 44mm. It had stretched 4mm in the past two years.

So yes, I spent my Memorial Day weekend in the ICU Tower at Cedars-Sinai with, quite possibly, the best nursing staff I've ever encountered and three of the best friends I've ever had, who took turns sitting by my bed side as much as possible, so I didn't have to be alone all of the time.

Next step is meeting with the cardiovascular team and the cardiothoracic surgeons at Cedars and seeing what my options are. It's looking like they may be able to do a non-invasive procedure that wouldn't require them busting open my chest and breaking my sternum (which is amazing, because when I was diagnosed they said the only option was open heart surgery) and they can do it soon. And my cardiologist is 99% sure he can get it in one shot.

I'm a bit nervous, yes. This is my heart we're talking about.
But I'm ready. I'm ready to not be afraid of every skipped beat. I'm ready to not feel this sharp pain I feel every time my heart is over-working the pulmonary artery. I'm ready to be able to breathe normally and not have to worry so much.

Thanks for all your thoughts and concerns as I go through this next phase of my life. I feel confident and know that I'm in the right place and I'm in good hands.

The doctor asked me as I was leaving. "Well, Ms. Parlor. Are you ready to be heart disease free?"

Yes. Yes, I am.

"But I hold on and I feel strong, because I know that I can."

Two years.

Two years is a long time for pretty much anything to happen.

I remember not being afraid at first. I don't think I truly processed the potential consequences of my actions and, thankfully, never needed to.

I remember the first moment I was afraid.

The girl I was living with (who I barely knew) and I were dropping off my best friend at LAX so she could fly home. It was as if they had planned the whole thing. It reminded me of when I was in kindergarten and my parents would drop me off at school. The teacher would whisk me away quickly before I could cry and distract me with crayons and coloring books.

Meredith pulled up to the curb, Sarah gave me a quick side hug and said goodbye. She walked into the airport before I could even get out of the car. No time for tears; no time for me to change my mind or ask her to stay just a few more days.

Meredith pulled away from the curb quickly, talking my ear off the entire way to dinner. I suppressed my tears and swallowed my fear because Meredith was practically a stranger; I couldn't cry in front of her.

The second time I remember feeling fearful of my decision was when I had been here for quite a few weeks. I still hadn't found a job and my money was starting to run out. I was beginning to plan how much money I needed in order to drive back to Florida; because that was looking like my only option.

And I was scared.
I was scared of going home. I was scared what people would say. But mostly? Mostly I was scared because I knew there was so much more for me in LA. I just didn't know how to find it.
(I got my job that day, by the way).

And now here I am.

I've lived in five different apartments.
I've had two jobs.
I've been promoted.
I bought a new car.
I've tried new things.
I've traveled all around Los Angeles.
I've road tripped to Las Vegas (more than once).

But above all of those things--I know who I am and I like her. The only fear I feel these days is the fear of leaving Los Angeles.

Here's to trying something new because you can; going against the grain and when everyone tells you you're crazy, you smile and nod but do it anyway. Here's to the nights spent at the Santa Monica Pier looking out towards Malibu with friends who become your family. Here's to giving yourself the chance to be happy.

Happy two years, LA.

Thanks for being one of the best decisions I've ever made.