I wasn't exactly planning on raising a child in Los Angeles. Or raising a child for that matter, but certainly not in Los Angeles
Hollywood is not exactly the place people bring their families to settle down. And like everyone else who ended up here in this twisted Mecca of addiction and narcissism, I came here for a dream. I came here to drop out of film school and try to be somebody. And it worked. Kinda. I feel somebody-ish. I did some cool stuff. I'm still standing at the very least. No permanent damage done.
Los Angeles has a way of penetrating even the thickest skins and tricking people into thinking they want most of all to be famous. TO BE SOMEBODY as opposed to wanting TO DO SOMETHING. That is what drives. That is where Hollywood came from, like a leggy-blonde-haired phoenix rising from the turn of the century dustballs; the streets of Los Angeles were paved by attention-seekers even if they didn't know they were attention-seekers yet.
More than once I have been asked if I would be interested in putting Archer in commercials. Television. The kid could do movies, he really could. And every time I said, "No! Absolutely not!" there was a part of me that wanted to say, "Yes! Wow! Thanks for asking!"
It is said that Los Angeles is the fakest city in the world. Maybe. But also it is a collective example of what happens when too many people are honest. Brutally honest and perhaps that is why it is so scary. We all want recognition. We all want to be beautiful. Here, we are failures if we are not. And so I struggle with what it means to say no. To Archer's recognition. And acknowledged beauty.
It is a strange feeling to want to protect my child from the things that in essence, I came here for. And it makes me think maybe we shouldn't be here. Because of temptation. Because it's so fucking easy to be romanced by devils with plastic wings. Because they look so real, you see. They look so big and white and real.
I grew up in the suburbs. Does it show? Will it show that Archer grew up smack dab in the middle of Hollywood, spitting distance from Paramount studios? A view of the Hollywood sign from his nursery windows? Surrounded by agents and actors and producers where our street is blocked off half the time for filming? Where half of the children his age already have agents. Booking jobs at 6-months. I know it isn't the norm anywhere else. But it's so easy to forget when it's all you know.
And it's okay for them. I'm not saying that it isn't. But it's not okay for us. But maybe it is? Maybe you should just do it? What's the big deal, right? You'll have college paid for by the time he's 16!
When I met Hal I was trying to decide between moving to New York City or Morocco to join the Peace Corps. I had been in Los Angeles for five years and I was ready to inhale something other than Hummer fumes. Gypsy cab fumes, for instance. Or camel fumes. I just wanted out.
And I can't say I still don't. Sure, there are things I love about Los Angeles. And Archer seems happy here, too. But I cannot help but wonder what our lives would be like somewhere different. There are days when I fantasize about leaving. To Portland or Seattle or San Francisco. New York or London or the Galapagos Islands. All places that would probably be better-suited for raising Archer, somewhere rich in culture and thought, where actors are what you see when you turn on the television, as opposed to all you see when you walk down the street.
It's hard to want out when you are trying to establish some kind of home. It is hard to root yourself when all of your instincts are telling you to uproot. To pack up and see the world, or at the very least experience somewhere new.
I didn't suddenly become a mother and want to settle down. I have no desire to own a home or a car. I'm a commitment-phobe by nature. I want to travel. And yet, I know I cannot do that to Archer, even if time and money allowed it.
I am here. In Los Angeles. Where palm trees are carefully placed and planted and we are made to think they grow wild. Where people are carefully chosen for sinister reasons and we are made to think they "made it" based on talent and perseverance. Life is not like that. Los Angeles is not like that. The question is, will that factor in to Archer's existence? Will the agents and the child actors and the Angeleno culture brainwash him into thinking the Hollywood sign is more than just what's left over from Hollywoodland? Is it naive to think that I can stop it? That I can somehow reverse the smoke so that he cannot inhale its fumes?
I'm not going to hate on Los Angeles. But I do think I'm allowed to at the very least, ask questions-- like I would in any committed relationship or chapter in my life. I can say honestly that I would happily leave tomorrow if I could. I would get on an airplane with a suitcase and an Archer and move away.
...But I can't. I have a family now. And our life is here. No matter how hard I seem to be fighting, flailing like someone with plastic wings. Flapping in the cesspool of stale perfume and crash landings, trying to find the balance in this lopsided City of Angels. For my son.
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