DON'T BE AFRAID TO FLEE, OR BE SURPRISED TO RETURN.

Byline: Barbara Azrialy

TWO years ago, when my son told me he was moving to Boston and I should move too, because I had been complaining about the violence in L.A., the superficiality of many of the people who lived here, and because I was beginning to be a real complainer about all the faults and flaws of La La Land, I didn't put up much resistance.

Sure, I first countered that I couldn't just up and leave my condo, my secure, but unsatisfying at the time, teaching position, and my friends, who didn't mind that I opened my fortune cookies before we ate our meal. But then, I said, ``Yes, I will move. What's the worst thing that can happen? It won't work out and I'll move back.''

And so, I sold my possessions, packed my car and headed east to Kennedy country.

You see, I've always hated listening to people who complain that they dislike something, and then proceed to do nothing about changing the situation. I've heard men and women kvetch about a job they despise or stay in an unfulfilling relationship, only to defend their stagnant lives. ``It's only eight more years till I retire,'' or ``It's better than being alone, isn't it?''

So I moved a year and a half ago to one of the ``most walkable cities'' in the United States, where I walked through the snow for the first time in 30 years.

I made new acquaintances with people who didn't think ``must see TV'' was a must and didn't know or care about all the key players in the O.J. Simpson B-rated miniseries. I wrote community letters from Madge and Barney to my friends back here and rang up huge phone bills. And I taught a television writing course where I was revered for once being a staff writer for a show that was a dismal failure in the ratings.

But, I pondered my life as I slowed down its pace by walking to do errands so I wouldn't have to hunt for a parking space that was impossible to find and wrote in a gratitude journal daily like Oprah said I should, to make me a different person.

And gradually I changed. Was it the walks and soul-searching, the listing of three things a day that I was grateful for, the renewed excitement about writing, my missing my friendships with people who could finish my thoughts, or was it missing my $12 manicure and pedicures that made me appreciate L.A., the place I always boasted that I was never from? So I concocted reasons to visit here five times in less than a year; and then, I packed up my car again and made the cross country move back.

Most of my friends welcomed me with open arms, saying I had tried what I had said I wanted to do and shouldn't feel like I had made a mistake. One said I was foolish and should have thought things through more because my moves had certainly cost more money than I had to blow on 11 months worth of exploration.

But, I'm back and feel a new exuberance. I love my new teaching job, excited about working with special education students who really need me to teach them how to read and write, instead of the boys and girls who were all on reading level back in Boston but still labeled as special-needs students.

And I'm thrilled that I'm writing another spec script that will most likely sit in my drawer. I value my friends and I appreciate the things I once felt were a hassle, and I feel good that I did something instead of complaining about a situation.

I can say proudly that I'm not a ``shoulda', woulda', coulda' person.'' I'm a risk taker, not afraid of failure; and hopefully, when I have my next hot flash it won't drain my pocketbook as much as that last one did.