Inner divide Despite its allure, it just ain’t easy being bi BY JAY JAROCH

I’ve always tried to be true to myself. That’s what I picked up from the after-school specials, anyway: never forget who you are, where you came from. Don’t let other people define you. Define yourself.

Recently, however, new experiences have taken me to a murkier place. It’s not something I expected to happen, but as a result I am no longer so easily put in this box or that box. And at the risk of alienating some of my family and friends, I have to face up to the way I feel, who I am. Because of my job, I spend about half my time on the East Coast, and the other half on the West Coast. And the truth is, I’m really attracted to both lifestyles. Yes, it’s time I admitted it: I’m bi-coastal.

Until recently, I had been a lifelong Bostonian, and there is much to like. It’s tough for other cities to match the intellectual and cultural climate. I don’t know if it’s the universities or the history or just having access to minds like Ray Flynn’s, but Boston’s just got a certain je ne sais quoi. (And you don’t get exposed to elegant French phrases like that just anywhere, I might add.)

Perhaps I’m being a tad presumptuous, not having soaked in the intellectual and cultural climate of every other major American city. But I think I stand on pretty firm ground here. Take the symphony, for instance: ads for the BSO try to lure you with the music itself — it’s "Bartók’s Piano Concerto No. 1, Wednesday at 8 p.m." In Los Angeles the ads are more like, "The Los Angeles Philharmonic ... Maybe you won’t hate it." So in a cerebral sense, Boston quickly becomes part of who you are. Plus, you talk differently. You love to watch Nomar run the bases. You become so East Coast that people from the Midwest look at you like you’re some kind of freak. It’s not so much a lifestyle choice as ... well, let’s just say I’ve always felt like I was born that way.

So I never really expected to enjoy being in Los Angeles, or having Los Angeles be in me. From a very early age I was taught to look down on Angelenos. In the mid ’80s, I can even remember being a part of a chorus of people chanting, "Beat LA! Beat LA!" We viewed them as people who lacked a moral center. They were always doing things just because they were trendy.

But then I moved there. And instantly, I could see obvious advantages. First, of course, was the weather. When you grow up in Boston, you quickly learn to recite the line about how much you like the seasons, and oh, how you’d miss the autumnal display of color. And it’s true — there is nothing in Los Angeles to compare to those crisp, clear New England days when the foliage is at its peak. All three of them. Out here we may not have color, but we do have about 90 days of crisp and clear — it’s called winter. If that doesn’t grab ya, just imagine a world where it is never necessary to tune into Dick Albert. I don’t know about you, but I was instantly curious about that world. And soon I found myself indulging in the limitless recreational opportunities Los Angeles has to offer.

At the same time, it’s never been enough to make me go completely West Coast. Sure, it’s been new and exciting, but when you grow up East Coast you learn that you should never take yourself too seriously — unless, of course, you have a graduate degree. Take yourself too seriously, and you can be sure your friends will soon be mocking you right back down to earth: "Bill, you’re a systems analyst and you live in Malden. Take the leather pants off."

People in Los Angeles don’t discourage that kind of behavior; rather, they climb over each other to emulate it. If Jay-Z appeared in a video with his face dotted with bits of tissue he’d used to clot his shaving mistakes, the next day you’d see Scotties-spotted hipsters on the streets of LA wondering if the mistakes go better with their pants’ legs up or down. Just about every day I walk by someone with light-blue trim on their shirt that matches the light-blue color of their pants that matches the light-blue tint of their sunglasses. I mean, some of these people are so flamboyantly West Coast they even offend me. I know we’re on the same side and all, but do they have to rub everyone’s faces in it?

Perhaps I shouldn’t judge. Maybe I’m just on edge because now comes the tough part: returning East and trying to convince my friends I’m the same person I was before I went West. I feel that if I use the wrong phrase or wear something other than a sensible pair of Dockers, I’m going to get the "I don’t even know you anymore" speech. Or worse, they’re going to wonder if I always wanted to talk like that, or if I always wanted to wear new clothes and just didn’t tell anyone.

That’s probably just nerves talking. Once the initial shock wears off, I’m sure my good friends will see that whether someone is East Coast or West Coast or somewhere in between, it really doesn’t matter. But I’ve also seen enough after-school specials to know there’s always that one friend, the popular jock, the one who’ll abandon you when he realizes you’re different, that hanging around you puts his suburban street cred in jeopardy. And in some situation designed to provide maximum embarrassment, he’ll say something like, "So ... how’s Santa Monica?"

And what can you say to that but, "Hey, man. I’m here, and I also live by the pier. Get used to it."

Jay Jaroch can be reached at jayjaroch@msn.com