On Being a Temporary Local: Sociological Lessons from Displacement
By Karen Sternheimer
As I recently wrote, I lost my home in the Los Angeles firestorm of January 2025. We are staying in a neighborhood about 25 miles away; while still within the city limits, the neighborhood is far different from our own. This is giving me the chance to learn to become a temporary local, something I regularly do when traveling to another country.
Being a temporary local involves learning new local customs, norms, and practices. While I didn’t need to learn a new language or worry about currency conversion, coming to a new neighborhood has brought some of the same opportunities that traveling abroad does.
Many people in this neighborhood wear masks, even outside. At first I wasn’t sure if it was in reaction to the wildfires that caused air quality problems, but months later I still notice mask wearing outside, something that was unusual in my old neighborhood.
A big part of navigating Los Angeles is driving, famously mocked on Saturday Night Live’s The Californian’s sketches. For decades, I lived west of the USC campus and my commute was relatively unchanged, except when a major freeway closure happened. Now I am north of campus, and the first few times had to use Google Maps to get to work. It made me anxious not knowing how to get to and from work, and I am learning new routes to avoid traffic when possible.
I often drive through a distressed neighborhood that is undergoing gentrification on my new commute. I am fascinated by the changing landscape, ranging from graffitied walls and local eateries to high-end ultra-modern apartments or condominiums built next to auto repair shops. It will be interesting to see how this neighborhood shifts during my displacement.
A newly constructed building above a wall with graffiti
We have also discovered a municipal pool just on the edge of the gentrification zone. As I wrote about last year, swimming in a new pool also involves learning new rules and practices. Unlike the other municipal pool we went to for about a month, this one has different rules. Lanes are not marked by swimming speed, but there is a sign in front indicating what types of swimming attire can and can’t be worn in the pool (no street clothes or underwear, and also no thong bikinis). A sign in the women’s changing area says, “No Public Nudity” and the showers and changing rooms have curtains; as I wrote about previously, public nudity at the other public pool was a big change from what I was used to in our local pool.
When traveling in other countries, I really enjoy shopping at local grocery stores to learn about and cook local foods. While the grocery stores are ones that I’m familiar with—and am even enrolled in loyalty programs with online—the stores themselves are quite different than in my previous neighborhood. First, they are a lot bigger, making it hard to find items I usually buy, but also offering larger selections of food. Being a much more ethnically diverse area, there are many different types of food choices available too.
Most surprisingly, many of the toiletries and cleaning items at the grocery stores, big box stores, and drug store chain are locked behind plexiglass or are cordoned off from the rest of the store, presumably to reduce theft. This means that if I want to buy sunscreen, for instance, I have to find a clerk to help me. Apparently this has been taking place around the country for a few years, but it was new to me.
Skincare products in a local drug store
All toiletries and personal items are closed off and under surveillance at this grocery store
Learning to navigate a new community can be a challenge, but I am considering this a sociological opportunity after losing my home. Try it for yourself: spend a few days in a new part of town if you can. What are some everyday familiar activities that become strange?
Photos courtesy of the author
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