I adopted a life in Los Angeles a decade ago. I believe it takes about this long to fully grasp how much you will never know about a city forever dilating in the infamous California sun. The freeways a practice of patience, a meditation. Time warps differently, distance a matter of minutes, not miles. And while I might be able to accurately calculate how long it will take to get from Highland Park to Culver City at 3pm on a Tuesday (depending on what exit you take), I could only guess how many souls arrive and leave this city in a single day. I arrived at the age of 17, anxious and ambitious, unaware of the ease with which one can lose themselves in the layers of history marked like floodlines throughout limitless peaks and valleys, freeways and side streets. For ten years, Los Angeles has been my greatest teacher, the conductor of a symphony of stories related all at once and not at all. I have learned the power of perspective, the necessity of change and the tenderness of evolution. Today, I conduct a ceremonial pilgrimage to watch the first rays of sun cast palm-tree shaped shadows across this angelic city and lose myself in this view. I imagine the skyline undulating through herstory, until all that remains is the naked Earth, springing forth only that which is native to its environment. A landscape that breeds resilience to this day. I am grateful.