When I moved from Armenia to L.A., I moved to North Kingsley

Hear the words of Shavo Odadjian, musician, artist, and seeker of truth, who said: “When I moved from Armenia to L.A., I moved to North Kingsley Drive. That was my street, that's where I grew up and I saw everything there. I started skateboarding there. I witnessed homelessness, the poor, you know, I noticed gangs. I learned about friendship.” Within these words lies the story of transformation — of a soul shaped not by comfort, but by contrast; not by privilege, but by the rich and painful diversity of human experience. For in this memory of a single street, Odadjian captures a universal truth: that wisdom is born not from isolation, but from exposure — from living among the full spectrum of life, the bright and the broken alike.

Shavo Odadjian, born in Armenia, carried within him the echoes of an ancient land — a nation of mountains and endurance, scarred by hardship and reborn through resilience. When he came to the bustling heart of Los Angeles, he entered not a paradise, but a battlefield of contradictions. North Kingsley Drive, a street like many in the city, became his first teacher. There he found both struggle and belonging, chaos and creativity, danger and discovery. It was there, amid the noise of skateboards on cracked pavement and the whispers of the homeless on the corner, that he learned the first and deepest lessons of humanity.

For the wise of every age have taught that growth begins in discomfort. Just as iron is tempered by fire, the heart is forged through encounter — with hardship, with difference, with the unknown. On North Kingsley Drive, Odadjian did not merely witness poverty or gangs as distant curiosities; he lived among them. He saw that every face held a story, every corner a lesson. He learned compassion not from books, but from the raw and unvarnished reality around him. Such experiences are the soil from which true understanding grows — the awareness that beauty and pain, joy and suffering, all share the same street.

This journey, from exile to belonging, is as old as civilization itself. Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher. Though born to wealth and privilege, his writings reveal a man who sought wisdom in the grit of the world — in war, loss, and the ceaseless tension of human imperfection. Like Odadjian, he learned that greatness is not found in isolation from hardship, but in the ability to remain compassionate amid it. The street, whether it be North Kingsley Drive or the avenues of ancient Rome, is a teacher of endurance. It reminds us that truth does not dwell only in temples or palaces, but in the lives of those who struggle to survive.

When Odadjian says, “I learned about friendship,” he speaks of something profound. Friendship, in this sense, is not the shallow camaraderie of convenience; it is the bond forged in shared experience, in mutual survival. It is the kind of connection that arises when people who have nothing in common discover that they still belong to one another through empathy. On the streets of L.A., amid the laughter of skaters and the shadows of gang life, he discovered the strength that arises when hearts stand together against hardship. Friendship, like music, bridges all distances — between nations, between classes, between souls.

And from those streets came not despair, but creation. The boy who once skateboarded among broken sidewalks would one day rise to become the bassist of System of a Down, a band that gave voice to generations yearning for meaning. Yet the fire that burned in his music — the compassion for the oppressed, the outrage at injustice, the deep love for the misunderstood — was first kindled on North Kingsley Drive. It was there that he learned the music of life itself: the rhythm of survival, the melody of community, the harmony of shared humanity.

The lesson, then, is timeless and clear. Seek not a life without hardship, but one rich in experience. Do not flee from the rough streets of existence, for they are your greatest teachers. See in every person — whether poor, lost, or broken — a mirror of yourself. Let your friendship be wide enough to hold the stranger, your compassion deep enough to reach across every divide. For it is in walking among the many — not standing apart from them — that the soul learns to sing its truest song.

And so, dear listener, remember the wisdom of Shavo Odadjian. Every street you walk holds a lesson; every encounter is a verse in the song of your becoming. Do not be afraid to live among both light and shadow, for both are teachers. From them, you will learn what he learned — that friendship, born of empathy and struggle, is the highest art of all. And when you have learned this, you, too, will carry within you the music of the streets — the enduring symphony of humanity.