I want to hear you laugh like you’re reeling me in. collapse into me, tired with joy.

There is something strangely comforting about the situation I find myself in. I don’t like California. Too many cars. Too much striving. Too many people abusing theirs bodies and inspiring more of the same. Some of the country’s most beautiful people and they have absolutely no idea what they have inside. It’s quite sad. But it is also such a refreshing contrast when you find your self in this state, sitting on a blanket at the simi valley public library with your dog and your actress friend, waiting on a phone call. Stephanie and I are lounging in the shade. She met me after her Hollywood morning of phone calls and meetings, let’s do lunch, have your people call my people. Tired from our late night gab fest and ryan gosling run-ins, she relaxes at my side deciphering her handwriting and making arrangements for her call time with zack braff in the morning. Apparently scrubs is back in production. Good news for nbc. That show is hilarious and if you pay attention to the soundtrack you’ll find lots of cool new music. Or check out mr. Braff’s blog. He may not have good taste in women (how do you dump Mandy moore? She’s adorable? But he has a quality ear and a heart for sharing his tune taste with others).

I’m waiting on a phone call. Or two rather. From Lindsey and Jacob. We are meeting up for a reunion of sorts. East meets west meets far east (Hurry Curry) Jacob rolls in from Colorado. Denver, not Telluride, but I’ll let it slide. Seeing as he is actually from there. I give him props for birthright and origin. Jacob’s adorable but far from the rugged man I see myself trapseing around the states with in my vw van. White t-shirt and designer jeans. Hair smoothed across his forehead just so. Brushing it to the side as he removes his motorcycle helmet. This look suits him. And the bike. I rush to hug him. Awww, my little charlotte friend. Again there is that weird recognition like one of these things just doesn’t belong. We turn to go inside. Lindsey is standing in her doorway waiting. All smiles and beautiful blond hair. I swear this girl can pull of any look. And she makes it hers. Hairstyle, jewelry, clothes, there is something so comfortable and original about the way she puts it all together. I love it. And I love her. And I am so excited to be standing on her doorstep about to see her California life. Lindsey and I met some time last year. Introductions through Kelly and Joel. A few games of cards and some wicked iced coffee at her shared apartment with Amanda (another girl I heart big time: philly friends unite!) and then our road trip to Pennsylvania where I cried in the rain on the side of the road as I attempted to change a flat tire. We were new friends then. And it bonded us to be in the car for twelve hours listening to pod casts from Cornerstone and rocking out to sweet jams. I still think of you, Lindsey whenever I hear a song with hand claps. So good.

And so it is one year later and thousands of miles past the queen city that we sit in a foreign living room, joined by one of her new roommates and two other east cast transplant friends, and it feels like home. We trade stories of how we know one another. How we got where we are, what we do and all the while there is this overwhelming call that seems to be pouring through the walls. The lord has brought us all to this point. I have followed at a cautious pace while others dove in head first making quick moves or returning to original homes, but as we share our stories it becomes clear that the lord is present with us. And so we dine in Old Pasadena like old friends. And they share their California favorites with me. Diagonal crosswalks & Pinkberry. And we listen to good music and drive on “the” highways. And settle into bed worn out and happy. Sharing our thoughts about life. What the heck we think we are doing. Talking in the darkness like high school girls. Only the morning brings amazing jobs and open roads instead of math tests and homeroom.