In Los Angeles, closeness is rarely measured in miles. This is true in both romantic relationships and Friendships.

“I miss you” is something we say to people who live ten miles away. Friendships survive almost entirely through Instagram story reactions, late-night voice notes sent from our couches and “we need to get dinner soon” texts we both know will require at least two weeks of scheduling.

And unlike cities where connection happens passively, like running into each other at the same corner café or bar, relationships in LA require intention. You choose them over and over again through traffic, parking, precise timing, planning and checking the ETA before deciding how much you actually like someone.

Which is why dating someone across town is basically long distance.

I’ve lost track of the number of people on dating apps who’ve openly admitted to prioritizing first dates based on proximity. And if we’re being honest, that’s a universal survival instinct in this city. I’d be lying if I said I never take another look through someone’s profile photos before making the trek to Venice just to triple check they’re worth the 25+ minute drive to Si! Mon. A person can be emotionally available, attractive, funny aaanndd completely incompatible with your lifestyle simply because they live in Glendale and you’re in Malibu.

So naturally, there’s something deeply moving about the willingness to drive in LA. Another love language of ours: crossing the 405.

And there’s some level of logistical intimacy at every stage. One of the most humbling realizations in modern romance is discovering the person you’ve been seeing for three months has actually never seen your neighborhood in daylight. “They drove from Venice to Los Feliz on a Thursday at 6pm” carries the same emotional weight as someone in another city writing you poetry.

The most romantic thing you can do in LA is drive.

We also mentally categorize Friends by freeway and geography, like our adult version of high school groups. You have your westside Friends. Your Valley Friends. Your “I’d see them more if they lived closer” Friends. Your “I genuinely love them but cannot mentally commit to the 101 right now” Friend. Your Friends in Altadena, Calabasas or Long Beach who may as well live on another planet depending on the time of day.

A 7:15pm reservation at Marvin in Beverly Grove when you live in Santa Monica feels less like casual plans and more like psychological warfare. “Meet me halfway” starts sounding less like a compromise and more like custody negotiations.

There’s something undeniably meaningful about the effort. Because when someone picks you up from LAX, that’s not just kindness, that’s devotion. Sacrifice. Massive opportunity cost plus at least 60 minutes of defensive driving no matter what neighborhood you’re coming from. And when it comes to dating, that’s the biggest grand gesture there is.

Strong relationships here become less about convenience and more about willingness. Who is willing to go the extra mile (knowing it could take 45 minutes). Who will circle the block for parking. Who will spend 1-2 hours driving from Pasadena to Beverly Hills after a long workday just to catch up in person at Il Cielofor two hours before driving that exact distance back again in reverse. That effort means something.

Especially in a city where everyone is tired, overextended and constantly in transit between meetings, auditions, events, dinners, workouts, appointments, breakups, breakthroughs, breakdowns, big moves and small moves. All of it.

Maybe that’s why LA Friendships and romantic relationships can feel so emotionally loaded. Nothing happens accidentally here. There’s no “just popping by because I had extra time today.” Every plan involves cosmic levels of calculation, near-divine coordination and at least one person saying, “wait, what does traffic look like at that time?”

And somehow…we still make it work.

We spend more time in our cars than at the restaurant. We sit in traffic. We send the voice note. We push the reservation back thirty minutes. We leave work early to try beating the 405.

We choose each other anyway.

Which, no matter your zip code, might actually be the purest form of love.

— Your Friend

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