A Letter To Hipster Jesus

I’m writing because I miss you. I used to write to you all the time. In my dozen or so journals from middle and high school — I used to address every entry to you. I miss the simple arrangement you and I had, and I miss the people who taught me to try and live the most crystallized version of your teachings. I know now how rare they were.

I moved to L.A. in early 2014, after living in New York City for 13 years. You might already know all of this, but just in case you’ve been busy, or have just simply refused to look down for fear you’ll see how we’ve trashed the place (do NOT look at Greenland rn)…here’s what’s been going on with me. When I moved to Los Angeles, I never anticipated that, in a place of perfect weather and easy access to a Target that isn’t post-apocalyptic, my life would feel so bleak. I’ve started to refer to that feeling as Lanely (LA Lonely). A few factors compounded to sink me into a depression. My TV show had been cancelled, though I wasn’t completely devastated by that news. I have grown accustomed to the frequent bashing the entertainment business delivers to your ego. You walk around knowing that the thing the industry just gave you can be taken away at any moment. Nevertheless, the cancellation still hurt, and it left me a little lost trying to figure out what to do next, and I sorely missed the work. I love to work. I have been a very busy person since I was 12 years old. Usually my stress comes from taking on too much work; now, I had no work, no deadlines, nowhere to be. It was just a blank calendar, a blank page, and a blank head.

Jesus and the Uber Driver

THE OTHER KIDS who attend my daughter’s public school live within two blocks of it, but our home is a mile away. Most days, we enjoy the walk. But this winter has made riders of us.

Nobody in this town owns a car. Many, like me, don’t even possess a license. When you have to go fast or far, and a subway won’t cut it, you lift your finger for a cab, or, lately, tap your screen for an uber. An uber has the edge when it’s 7:55 AM, and every cab on the street already has a passenger.

The school doors for fourth and fifth graders close at 8:20. If you arrive at 8:21, you need a late pass. Even in the worst weather. Even if the president is visiting, half the avenues are blocked, and the other half are under construction. Too many late passes in fourth grade, and your child won’t qualify for an appropriate middle school. Ridiculous? Undoubtedly, but this is New York.

It’s 7:55 AM and we haven’t brushed our teeth. But I have this winter uber commute down to a science. I pick a car that’s four minutes away, and conduct the toothbrushing race, shoe race, and jacket race that my daughter always wins, and that get her out the door in four minutes or less.