Back in the day, we lived on top of that hill in that 1920’s place with black and white tiles in the kitchen and a backyard overlooking Hollywood. We’d get up early, do yoga with the smell of jasmine around us, walk slowly down the street for Cuban cafe and fresh squeezed carrot juice daily, run our numerous businesses plus spend our nights infused with urban beats and fine cocktails.   We had all the time in the world. We worked and played and traveled and took the time for slowly planned meals, daily practices, and monthly rituals.   I had intertwined myself with a man, a partner, who pulled down the moon with me and set fire to papers and hung tiny…