There are many myths about what it is like to live in Los Angeles. Since moving here from Chicago a couple of years ago, and being the conscious observer of the human condition that I am, I’d like to verify some, dismiss others, and shed light on the “We’re just hanging out, bro!” vibe commonly ascribed to the southland region.

Traffic

First, there’s the traffic. Put that one in the not-a-myth box. Chicago, New York and other metropolises across the land also have traffic problems during the typical morning and evening commute times. Los Angeles, I would say, simply has more of it, spread over a greater distance, and you never get a day off from it.

Famous People

Another commonly held belief is that a move to Hollywood will ensure your daily activities include rubbing elbows with movie stars at the local Starbucks. To be sure, nowhere else in the world are the odds of bumping into someone famous as great as they are in Los Angeles, but Brangelina, Bennifer, Kimye and the rest of them aren’t consciously uncoupling in the checkout line at Trader Joe’s.

If you work on the Warner Brothers studio lot, you’ll see famous people. If you live in certain neighborhoods, or hit the right café at the right time, you’ll see famous people. If you hop on one of those creepy “See the Homes of the Stars with Asian Tourists” tour guide buses, you’ll see famous people (through a cluster of trees and pack of guard dogs).

But I moved to L.A. in the spring of 2012 and, after meeting Will Ferrell and Clint Eastwood in the first month or so, I’ve only seen Topher Grace (twice), the back of the Olsen Twins’ heads as they went into a bar, and “that guy” from ten other television movies you can’t remember the name of.

Oh, and I snuck onto the red carpet of ESPN’s ESPY Awards Show last summer at the Staples Center, but that’s a story for a different day.

Coexist?

Finally, there’s this notion that everything is “so chill” in Los Angeles and that “tolerance” is the ethos of the land. Lean out the window of the apartment your parents are subsidizing so you can pursue your dream of waiting tables, fling from said window your kale-based smoothie, and there’s a good chance you’ll hit a “Coexist” bumper sticker. However, the incessant genuflecting at the altar of broadmindedness doesn’t always translate into real-world application.

You Don’t Exist

Which brings us back to something I left out in the traffic section above, pertinent to the tolerance question: drivers’ utter disregard for you. The theme is not so much Coexist as You Don’t Exist. I cannot tell you how many times I have been nearly driven off of the road by a Prius boasting a few dozen preachy stickers about the mortal dangers of fracking, Wal-Mart’s wages and the lobbying efforts of the NRA.

This person can’t even coexist with other drivers, but Muslims and Israelis should “stop all that fuss” and lay down their arms? I’m not suggesting that such drivers have a corner on the hypocrisy market. But the difference between an antiquated term like civility and the modern obsession with coexistence is enormous.

Still, I Love L.A.

Los Angeles is a fun place. In many areas it is a beautiful place. Personally, I love it here and have enjoyed my time immensely. But it is a tolerant place only for those who can check the right ideological, sexual and ethnic boxes.

And for far too many, it is a lonely place. Folks are hungry for something more. Spiritual revival, not bumper stickers, will change this place.