A Day at The Getty
Disney just announced another price hike, and while I’m not here to talk trash about Disney, I can’t help but feel grateful I already had my fill of those years of multi-visit passes. I’ve had my share of churros and fireworks. Now I’m more interested in discovering the quieter kinds of magic Los Angeles has to offer. The kind that doesn’t require a two-hundred-dollar ticket. The kind you find on a hill overlooking the city, surrounded by art, gardens, and sunlight.
One of the coolest things about visiting The Getty is the short tram ride to the top. It’s more than just a way up the hill, it’s a moment to breathe, to set your intention for the visit ahead. What kind of energy are you bringing with you? What do you hope to see or feel?
Today, I rode with a sense of wonder, open to observe, to absorb, and to let the experience unfold.
The Getty is one of those rare gifts, a place built from vision and meant for generations. Oil magnate J. Paul Getty opened his first museum to the public in the 1950s, turning part of his Malibu ranch into an art gallery so people could experience world-class art without crossing an ocean. Decades later, the Getty Center in Brentwood opened in 1997, expanding that dream into a world-renowned campus of art, architecture, and gardens, still free to visit, save for parking.
Every time I walk through its terraces or stand before a painting, I think about the foresight it takes to leave something lasting. I think about how generosity can outlive wealth, and how beauty, when shared freely, can shape the soul of a city far more than any theme park ever could.
Later, as I stood near the overlook, a small group of crows gathered on the rail, watching the same skyline I was.
Take a moment of Stillness in Motion by watching this video here
Crows are such kind, intelligent souls. Seeing them pause to take in the view felt like witnessing quiet wisdom.
Maybe that’s what The Getty offers, a pause. A reminder that elevation isn’t only about height; it’s about perspective.
When I left, I felt lighter. The noise of the city below faded into something softer, gratitude, perhaps, or clarity. Whatever it was, it stayed with me long after the tram carried me back down the hill.
Because in a city known for spectacle, it’s a gift to find stillness. And on that hill above Los Angeles, surrounded by stone, sky, and intention, there’s still magic, the quiet kind.
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