L.A. can be lonely, but it doesn’t have to be. This is also a city defined by friendship

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.

A few weeks ago, two of my closest friends, who are also a couple, shared that they were leaving L.A. for good. I was having dinner at their house — as I have been on a practically weekly basis — and I couldn’t stop myself from crying on my pasta. For five years, my partner and I have lived across the street from this couple. Our proximity has brought our already existing friendship even closer, to the point that I know which shows they’re watching on their projector and what time they generally shut off their lights to go to sleep (it has also been said that maybe I’ve been a little too observant). Jokes aside, knowing that my friends can bring me Advil when I’ve somehow spilled boiling water on my legs, or that they can come over for spontaneous Kismet rotisserie chicken on a weekday night, has made me feel safe and held.

When I moved to L.A., I had few friends and was lonely. I wasn’t optimistic about my future social life — everyone talked about how hard it was to make and sustain friendships in such a large, sprawling city. And it can be. Perhaps I was just lucky that my experience turned out the opposite: My seven years of living on my block on Normandie have been defined by friendship. Because aside from this couple, we’ve accumulated several other friends who are also neighbors. Whenever we’ve hosted an out-of-towner friend, they’ll almost always comment on how we seem to live in some kind of commune.

For all the talk of this city being alienating and people being unwilling to commute, I have witnessed something different. Beyond my own square radius, I have seen an art world that is far less individualistic than those in other major cities — one oriented toward collaboration and joining forces to make something more meaningful. A solo show ends up a group show. Writing your book becomes writing your book with others. Raising your child means raising it with those around you. The people I have encountered are some of the coolest and kindest in the same breath, a rare and precious combination.

Image’s November issue celebrates L.A.’s generous spirit and the commitment that people have toward their creative and personal relationships. It’s about the bonds that change you and make you never want to part ways.