Whenever I drive on the 10 heading west, I see this sign.
Los Angeles. Just ahead.
Every time I drive under it, I fight the temptation to ditch my real destination and just keep driving west. Through the desert and its strange little towns: Blythe, Indio, Desert Center, Palm Desert...
Los Angeles with its beautiful coast and the mountains and the green and the spaghetti bowl of its freeways and Six Flags.
I understand why people believe so strongly in heaven. At times, it's all we can do to convince ourselves there is something more than what we have—that there is a perfect place for us. It's what tempts me to fill the tank, hop in the car, and drive toward the sunset until I'm back in California again, back in the beautiful, where the water is, where the city is.
My heart is full-on West Coast.