“Chicago is a Broad, the very definition of a Phoenix-rising. The architecture, Her edgy exterior. The weather, Her emotions. The water, Her depth.” – Lily Sauvage, 2014
I used to be a runner. And not the healthy type you see on Lakeshore Drive working up a sweat in their Lululemon all year ’round (no kidding, Chicagoans will go outside with shorts on in sub zero weather). No, being a runner was never about health for me. I’m talking about running away. Away from challenges that I didn’t think I could master. It never worked. As Karma would have it, I simply ran into the same challenge with a different look to it. Different face, different city, yet same shit. The definition of insanity.
I don’t do this any more. In fact, I embrace challenges now. Getting the courage to leave an 11-year trauma bond in 2019 was the starting point. If ever there would be a time to run, not only into the arms of a new relationship, but to a brand new city (at very least, a new apartment!), it would’ve been then. Instead, I made it a focused goal to “cure my karma,” to be sure I’d never bring the same issues into the next relationship.
Nearly 5 years later, with plans to move to California a month into the new year, I was strangely happy that leaving Chicago was going to be sad for me. Happy, because I was finally not running away from emotional angst. Sad, because I love that city. Shortly before my departure and with a heavy heart of mixed emotions, I wrote the following…
I will miss Chicago. I will miss the city in which I learnt the term “salty” as applied to a personality. The expression “salt of the earth” takes on a whole new meaning here. I will miss the bi-polar “nice today, jerk tomorrow” effect the mind-boggling weather has on its residents. I will miss how Chicagoans pretend to give me grief over being, as they call it “woo-woo,” another learnt term strictly reserved for Los-Angeleans and always served with thinly-veiled fondness. I will miss the sense of solidarity, something I’ve never experienced in a large city; despite all the tragic strife that segregates one group from another, oft experienced by merely crossing to the other side of the road, a contagious sense of city pride is felt. I will miss the natives’ welcoming nature, how, regardless of the length of time you’ve lived in their city, you’re immediately viewed as one of them – flattered, they are, with unspoken appreciation and respect for someone who would leave sunny Cali in exchange for bitter cold. I will miss the changing of the season, aka, “fashion-shift opps” for Yours Truly. That said, it took me, at least, four years to master how to bundle up against wintertime cold and still look like a diva rather than a walking sleeping bag! (It’s all about the boots and belted coats, Dahling.) I will miss the first glittery snow of the season, the ghost-town effect it has, and less fondly observed, the only time this boisterous city looks clean. (I will not miss the litter and crusty dog poo revealed when the snow melts.) I will miss the defiant way residents “reserve” their parking spaces with trash bins, lawn chairs, tables, and you name it. I will miss the incomparable, movie-like Christmases. I will miss the non-threatening lake, a huge pool created merely for our pleasure, a respite from the sticky, hot summer air. I will miss how, even at the beach, the looming city buildings, seen behind or to the right/left respectively, won’t let you forget that you are in a kick-ass urban city. I will miss the sudden, tropical downpours that send us all scurrying for the nearest awning to await the subside – a sweet opportunity to bond with a total stranger. I will miss the humidity, so good for my skin and hair. I will miss my ‘hood, gosh, how I’ll miss it – voted twice in the top ten best neighbourhoods worldwide, and more recently, the second coolest. I will miss the best public transportation system I’ve experienced in a big city – how all I have to do is walk out my door, turn a corner, and access one bus to take me on any adventure I desire to have in this magical city. I will miss my classic, Chicago-style, brownstone apartment. I will even miss the certain kind of charm a place that’s falling apart due to being over a hundred years old has. I mean, with all the quaint vintage detailing on every baseboard, wall, ceiling, and floor, who cares, right? I will miss the skyline – how the tops of buildings against a grey sky give a positively surreal effect, how each one complements the other (the architect’s generous intention when designing), and how, regardless of where you are in Chicago, you’re guaranteed the pleasure of a magnificent display. That said, if you’ve never been to Chicago, don’t even think about going unless you plan to take the architectural boat tour. That’s how I fell in love with this particular “broad.” (See quote up top.) I will miss the no-nonsense, matter-of-fact approach Chicagoans take to things that, in L.A., would be reason enough to stress out. I will miss how, if you complain about the cold, someone will retort with absolutely The Most quintessential, flat-a, mid-western accent, yet in that NY “fugghedaboudit” kind of way, and with emphasis on the second syllable, “It’s Chicago!” (Basically, to say, “deal with it, sissy!) I will miss the specific-only-to-Chicagoans dry sense of humour. And finally, I will miss this huge city’s small-town-like friendliness, where the expression “true-blue” was surely born.
With all the darkly challenging hardships I endured there, Chicago never failed me.
And Paris never failed. me. Neither did Oakland, the Peninsula, Cedar City, or the San Fernando Valley, for that matter.(Although, verdict is still out on that one. I mean, have you been there?) Regardless, my issues had only ever to do with not trusting myself, feeling unworthy of love or joy, and fear of growth.
So, with appropriately salty tears in my eyes, I bid you au revoir, Chicago, because we shall surely meet again.