It can be beautiful out here. A celebration of the Los Angeles outdoors

My New Year’s resolution is to walk in Griffith Park once every other week. This shouldn’t be hard to accomplish — I live a 15-minute walk from one of the main park entrances — and yet, I am averaging more like once a month. Still, those occasional walks are already among my most memorable experiences of the year: the densely green foliage from all the rain, the reward of a strawberry lemonade from the Trails Cafe, lying on the grass in front of the observatory and watching the clouds expand and thin, gossiping with a friend and taking a photo of her against the auburn hills at sunset, hearing hungry coyotes yipping beyond the bushes. It seems that every year the thing I’m missing and striving toward is to be outside more. One time I read a list of suggested new year’s resolutions that included stepping outside as soon as you wake up, to have contact with the Earth first thing. I tried doing this, but I mostly just felt confused and tired under the sun on my front porch, waiting for the Earth to work on me. I’ve since accepted that I am a gal who likes to be in her pajamas for as long as possible in the morning, reading on the couch.

But I need to be outside more. Which is also my way of saying I need to be with others more, I need to pay attention more, I need to be a part of the physical world more.

This issue celebrates the Los Angeles outdoors, the many lives to be lived under its unencumbered sky. There are less rules outside, fewer boundaries: coffee dates prolong, walks meander, thoughts digress. And yes, because we are blessed with famous weather, whole neighborhoods and districts can risk spilling out into the sidewalks, where laughs get louder, music gets blasted and the street fashion becomes a runway. It’s become much too easy to recede into the claustrophobic containers of our depression-inducing screens. Traipsing down the Hollywood Farmers Market with giant heads of lettuce and overgrown bouquets feels not only like release, but also resistance and resilience. We’re still bargaining for gold hoops and oversize blazers at Santee Alley, getting dressed up for each other at the Venezuelan coffee shop on Melrose, and dreaming through the colors of Chinatown. We’re still picnicking under piñatas, and some of us still gather at newsstands to flip through artful magazines and meet like-minded strangers. It can be beautiful out here.