Put Up or Shut Up: How LA Said Bring Yo Ass Home!

I don’t think I’ve ever actually told the full story of how I moved to LA. Like, the real story. The one with the crying in a coffee shop, the credit denials, the 72-hour hotel stays, and the Sunday morning where I just packed my car and left.

This is that story.

The First Time LA Spoke to Me

In March of 2025, I visited LA for the first time. I took a flight, landed at 5 a.m., and checked into a Hyatt near the airport. Now, mind you, I used to be a top-tier Hyatt Awards member. But over the two years prior to that trip, during healing and solitude, my membership had lapsed. So this was actually my first time really traveling again since coming out of that season.

I got to the hotel around 8 a.m. and they told me the rooms weren’t ready, but they’d text me. Fine. So I went to a nearby coffee shop. S/O to Hilltop Coffee!

 At this point in my business, I was running a service called Tailor Your Own Recruiting Service. I would act as a recruiter for my clients — creating their resumes, writing their cover letters, applying for jobs on their behalf, tracking everything in a project management tool, and sending them weekly updates. I was applying to 5 to 20 jobs a week per client. It was working. I even had a client land a higher-paying job out in Oakland. I had about five clients total.

But LA was about to retire that whole thing.

After about two hours in that coffee shop, jet lag fully setting in, I texted the hotel to check on my room. The lady came back with: “the rooms are ready, but check-in isn’t until 3 — unless you want to pay an extra $80 to get in early.”

My stomach dropped. Part of me wanted to pay it. But another part of me was pissed. Because I knew  that if I still had my status, I’d have walked right in. The guy next to me at check-in at 8 a.m. got his room early. I watched it happen. So I sat there for another two hours. I cried a little. And then I got back to the hotel around 1:30, got a different guy at the desk, and he let me check in early.

When I finally got to my room, I made a video. And in that video, I said: I’m retiring this service when I get back! ASAP no ROCKY!

I was tired. I didn’t want to work that hard. And if you know anything about human design, my not-self theme as a Projector is bitterness. And that’s exactly what I was starting to feel. I wasn’t charging what I was worth, I was doing a ton of manual work, and I wasn’t in my energy at all. I’m a leader. A mentor. A guide. A teacher. I’m not meant to be doing manual data entry around the clock.

So the very first thing LA did for me, before I even moved here permanently, was show me exactly what I was not meant to be doing. It said: You’re not meant to work hard here, babe. You’re meant to enjoy it with ease. Put up or shut up. So what we doing??

I was only here for 24 hours that first trip. I just wanted to see if LA liked me. And it did — it just also immediately humbled me and showed me what needed to change.

The Second Visit: Know What You Want When You Come Here

Fast forward to July. I had just signed one of my biggest clients to date. And I decided me and Onyx were going back, this time to actually look for a place. I was feeling the itch to leave Texas. I wasn’t feeling it there anymore. It was time.

This time, I stayed in West Hollywood at a Kimpton. Shout out to Kimpton — they love dogs the way I love dogs, and they are just top tier. Between my first and second visit, I had found a realtor to help me look for places. My credit wasn’t the best at that point, but I had money. I could show that I could pay rent months in advance. Still, the credit score was a no from most places.

And I had my heart set on a loft. I knew lofts were downtown. So we went to look at places, and I found one I really loved. They were telling me the price, plus an extra $200 a month for valet because there’s no real parking downtown. I was like, okay, fine. Whatever. I want a loft. Let me apply.

The next day, they told me I wasn’t approved.

I had packed extra stuff for that trip because in my head I was going to find a place, leave some things, and then start going back and forth like the bi-coastal baddie I thought I was about to be. No. Absolutely not. That was not my reality.

After about three days in the hotel, I was over it. Tired of hotel food. Tired of 350 square feet. I needed space. I needed to feel safe. So even though I had planned to be there for at least two weeks, I booked the next flight back to Texas. I was there for maybe 72 hours total.

And when I got back to Texas, I stayed in bed for two days just to recharge. But what that trip told me was: know what you want when you come here. I had been dead set on a loft downtown without really knowing LA yet. And LA was like, okay, but do you actually know what that means? Do you know what you’re stepping into? It taught me to get clear. And I got clear.

September Sunday: The Day I Just Left

After I got back to Texas that second time, I started looking at long-term Airbnbs. I was like, we’re moving. This is happening. I was also in the middle of trying to sell my house, so I kept telling myself I’d wait for the “perfect” time. Sell the house, then move. I even booked an Airbnb downtown for October and told myself that was the plan.

The universe had different plans.

My house started feeling like it was pushing me out. Like my energy, my aura, everything about me no longer screamed Texas. It was screaming: get to LA. Now. Divine timing doesn’t always wait for the conditions to be perfect.

So one September Sunday in 2025, I woke up. I packed everything I loved — about three suitcases and two duffel bags. My house wasn’t sold. I still had furniture in it. I still had stuff in it. But I put Onyx in the car, and we started our drive to LA.

We started in Texas, stayed a night at the Kimpton in San Antonio. Then we went to Arcadia, Texas — where I stayed at a Residence Inn — and let me tell you, going from a Kimpton to a Residence Inn was a total 180. That part of the trip confirmed what I already knew: I like nice things. I always have.

From Arcadia, we drove through a small part of Oklahoma and stayed at this really cute motel that somebody had completely transformed. We loved it. Then we went from there to Phoenix — Scottsdale, specifically — and that’s where we stopped to truly rest.

Scottsdale felt significant. The last corporate job I had was headquartered in Phoenix, Arizona. The same company that laid me off. Stopping there on my way to my next chapter felt like a full-circle moment — a closing. You no longer work for anybody. You work for yourself. There are no coincidences.

The morning we checked out, I remember saying out loud: tomorrow, I will be living in LA.

It felt surreal. We got in the car. We started the drive. And the very last thing I did before my car crossed into California was stop to charge my  car and grab something to eat at a Wendy’s. A houseless man came in and asked if I could buy him something. I said yes, absolutely, get whatever you want. He asked for the burger, fries, and a drink. He was genuinely surprised I meant it. I paid for it. We left. And about ten minutes later, I was in California.

I just remember saying: we did it. We went from Texas to California. And it was beautiful.

And Now, 2026

I am extremely grateful to be here. I love this state. I love this city. And I don’t take any of it for granted.

Because LA has shown me who I truly am, authentically. There’s no fakery with me when it comes to this city. I don’t think you can do it here, honestly. At least I can’t. LA has said to me: be yourself, and we’ll match it.

So, with my wine glass in hand, sitting on the terrace of my new LA home, I raise a high toast to LA. For calling me here. For pushing me to put up or shut up. And for welcoming me with open arms.