Chicago…

1 year ago today, I moved to Chicago. I said ‘goodbye’ to my home of almost seven years and moved to a place unknown to me for a fresh challenge. Emotions ran high and there was a lot of ‘living on a prayer’ when my plans fell to pieces then melted like my body wrapped in denim in August.

The year flew by in a whirlwind of ever-evolving artistic communities and a constant, insatiable need to connect. I seamlessly floated from ‘tourist’ to ‘regular’ to ‘we all know Kay’ and no real idea of how a marginally outgoing introvert like myself pulled that off. However, certain moments will always be a part of my Chicago identity, like the first time I went to the House of Worship and picked up a Spanish prayer book because I find overwhelming sensation disorienting before its purely sensory. Or when I went to the Gala and the whole crowd knew the background fills for a performer’s cover of Alicia Keys’ “Diary” and for the first time Chicago truly felt like home. Perhaps most significant was having my mother visit and understand my need for unity, art, and creative people as a form of self-care. And most recently, when a group meditation turned into soul-stirring connection and joy.

Last night, I decided to visit my jazz friends from last Spring. I walked into the Green Mill as I had nearly a year ago, but this time it felt familiar and comfortable, like a cozy blanket welcoming me and providing security from the snowy sidewalks outside. Still content to be alone, I sat at the bar and waited for the show to start. But this time, instead of seeing strangers, I was looking at guys that I know playing some of the most beautiful compositions and arrangements I’ve heard. Beside me sat a rather quiet girl who struck up a conversation during the break. She sings. She’s from Southern California. She’s new to town. She’s going to jazz and soul events around the city to meet new people. I introduced her to the band. I watched the cycle repeat itself.

Where Did Summer Go?

I know according to some solstice, summer lasts 3 months and that “autumn” is apparently a real season in Chicago. But summer in LA drags on for an eternity. I never accomplished much in LA summer because there was no rush to stay ahead of Jack Frost. Even when summer fades away for a few months, there is always a beach weekend reprieve in January or February. Oddly enough, I’ve been seeing parkas and boots everywhere in Chicago. It’s like people here were counting down the days to box the sundresses. I can only hope that one day I’ll understand the love Chicagoans feel for the “crispness in the air” that signals all of nature is about to die. Well maybe you can tell how I feel about seasons changing… this being my first real non-summer season in 7 years. So I didn’t take Chicago summer for granted and I accomplished way more than I thought possible.

I decided I want to go back to school!
With hundreds of friends who did this (whom I laughed at for years) this decision did not come lightly. But I’m at a point where I want someone to teach me something that I don’t currently know how to do and won’t learn on my own. And having a degree to practice what I want to do is actually required… Oddly enough, I’m excited about it, but matriculating is on hold for a year (because I’m about that service life).

I heard a lot of live music.
Festivals everywhere – Choral, Blues, Jazz, and Neighborhood. Concerts – big and small. Friend’s shows. Jam Sessions. Rehearsals. Choir. Live Band Karaoke. Open Mics. All of it. All of the time. Almost daily… I would refer to this as “a life worth living” My soul is fed. 🙂

I redefined my style.
My LA aesthetic didn’t work for Chicago summer, so my reinvention was of necessity. I had to learn to wear shorts and mini skirts without heels or combat boots. I also had to learn that a blazer over anything does not suddenly become “upscale” or office appropriate. Layering for a full day in Chicago is an artform. At least, it is to look pulled together in each iteration. Pro Tip: Tank, Button up, Shorts/skirt, and Scarf/umbrella/jacket. And a bag big enough to fit all the things you’ll want to strip off immediately in the sunlight.

I rekindled my relationship with my mom.
This was a big deal. She visited for 9 days and we’re the closest we’ve ever been since, um, she taught me in 2nd grade home school. So since I was 5. Yep, that happened. Exploring a city together is a great way to know or re-know someone. Obligatory favorite quote: “It’s funny how people change, when you let them.”

I started dating like a grown up.
This could be taken lots of different ways, but what I mean is this. I spend less time obsessing and fantasizing and more time assessing people’s character. Quirks and communications styles bother me less, while worldview and compatibility pop out at me. “Fun” goes in one category and doesn’t pollute the others… So, Yay for the Unicorns! 😉 This ideology also extends to friendships. My heart is open so be worth all that I invest in you. Don’t mess with my 4th chakra. That is all.

I volunteered.
I volunteered as a youth coordinator at the Baha’i Green Lake Conference and it was the best thing ever. We sang. We laughed. We created. And we learned. Well, I can say that I learned a lot about what spirituality is and what it means in my life. The youth helped me figure out where to put it and how to interact with it. Good things.

I got a real job!
As summer grinded to a close, I realized I should stop playing. (Well, “stop” is a strong word, so “play less”.) My new gig is equal parts music and serving. So it’s everything, and then my other everything. Funny how that worked out. Come visit me at the Baha’i House of Worship Sunday-Thursdays!

I visited “home”… and didn’t regret moving.
I was sure that visiting Los Angeles would devolve me into a pile of tears and leave me under a mountain of regret. But it turns out that I was never homesick for the city. I just missed the vast emotional support of my Superfriends. And I’m very thankful that this type of love can span time zones. For some dumb reason, I’d forgotten how accessible love is. Silly moi.

I guess I can call that my summer recap. I enjoyed every bit of self discovery that I forced myself into… and now for Autumn – when I will kick back and strive (but not really) for balance.

LA vs Chicago

I’m sure people have been waiting with bated breath for my thorough comparison. I think after surviving a full season in my new home, I do have some insight. BUt there’s really no direct comparison that would make much sense. I love both cities equally for very different reasons, one of which I will try to explain today.

Yes, I wearing this new crop top in a Coffee Shop in Chi-town.

LA is a city of dreamers. Although there are plenty of natives, the culture of transplants who have foresaken everything to move to the West Coast and be an artist is palpable. It’s where all the misfits, the ugly ducklings and the misunderstood find solace. We found each other and dreamed about making it big one day – on film, in the studio, in a back office, and at the agency. But it’s so beautiful all the time that there’s not really a rush to fulfill those goals right now. I mean for the majority of the country, relocating to LA and sitting by the beach at a coffee shop is the dream. Picking the ‘right’ dream will just happen by itself because this city breeds creativity like rabbits. So let’s be thankful for what we have. Let’s find contentment and hold onto it while we have a vision board party about what’s possible in the future. Let’s live the dream and create our own happiness, like everyone back home expects us to… but first let me take a selfie.

And here I am in working in LA.

Chicago is a city of workers. We have 22 colleges and industrial roots. I swear everyone I meet is in school, teaching, and/or has 2 jobs. The hustle is palpable. If you live here you are probably from here and maybe your parents still live in your neighborhood. Work isn’t meant to be soul enriching, it’s meant to pay some bills. The same is true of Chicagoans’ art. It’s meant to do something. It has a purpose and does not come with ease. Most of my musician friends have Master’s degrees in their art form. It’s taken very seriously. There’s a reason people come to Chicago for Steppenwolf. The grind is about consistency and output. It’s formulaic. My friends have gone to the same weekly jam sessions and organize the same open mics for years, sometimes decades. Their fans are Chicago natives who know their middle names and their brother-in-laws. It’s one big family that lives and breathes Chicago. So let’s put our head down and write and record this album, then we’ll go on a Midwest tour and make a video. Don’t worry, I’ll be around for festival season.

The most common question I get is “Why did you move from LA to Chicago? It’s supposed to happen the other way around.” Well, “supposed to” is clearly one of my least favorite phrases, but I digress. Maybe the two fit together better than you’d think. Maybe they need each other. The dreamers could use a dose of hard work to supplement the eloquent visions it takes years of contemplation and experience to articulate. And the workers could benefit from removing their gaze from the trench and towards the horizon, if they want to move a little further. Dreamers and workers don’t have to hate each other. It doesn’t have to be an opposition within myself either. They are both my gifts.

So when I say I came Chicago for a challenge, I really meant that I wanted an environment that would support the attainment of the dreams I so carefully constructed in the last 6 years. My Heart’s Desire. Huzzah!

Getting Used to What’s New

I’ve been slacking. I’ve had lots to say, but formulating the right way to say it has got me stumped. I’ve hit that part of the growth curve that’s the least exciting and the most important. It’s the plateau. The stupid, frustrating, close to the finish line plateau.

I now have a “typical” week. I have an idea what the day will look like when I wake up in the morning and I hate that. I’m still doing new and great things. They just don’t move me the way they would have 2 months ago. The patterns are setting in and it frightens me. I wasn’t quite ready to commit to this life I’ve chosen, so I’m fighting against it. I’m even moving again… within in the city.

My new eat in kitchen! Take that, LA!

I got my own 2BR in Logan Square. The plan is moving forward whether I feel like it or not. I believe in faking momentum. Mercury retrograde be damned. (Just kidding. I signed the lease before it went backwards to make the commitment less scary.) It’s a super cute spot and everything is currently white, grey or vintage hardwood, so I’m excited to feng shui the blank slate I’ve been given. (I am such a hippie sometimes.) It’s a great thing I went for the 2BR, as I have 2 sets of visitors scheduled already. Yay!

On the creativity front, I’ve taken to being a creative succubus. I’m not feeling so great about it, but I have expended all my extroversion for the time being and just need to soak up creative energy. The best spot for me has been an open jam session I attend weekly. Musicians just get together and play. They don’t know what’s next or what’s coming but they do it. It’s the ultimate in fearless participation. The nerd in me finds it fascinating to study who dominates the instrumentation and pulls the followers along. It ebbs and flows as if there is some natural order. Sometimes it’s very subtle. There’s just something about that much creativity in one room that feeds and overwhelms my soul. It stirs a part of me I’d forgotten, but simultaneously makes me introspective.

A funk keyboardist and a brass band. I didn’t want to interrupt them with my camera flash.

It’s like hearing 7-10 people’s emotions from the whole week being cast off and thrown at me, I get to pick and choose which I want to land and stay with me for my week. But being around that much vulnerability makes me guarded, so I keep going until I push through that wall. In my head, in culminates in me improvising on the microphone and knowing everyone’s name. In reality, I take that energy and pay it forward elsewhere. Sitting in that jam last week, I decided to continue my novel. The character development was presented to me through Thelonius Monk-ish key strokes and an aggressive drum solo. It is the realist place to people watch and I’m so grateful that I found it.

I’ve also decided to stop beating myself up about how little I’ve performed lately. It may be summer but my energy is focused more inward. There will be more writing and DIY projects this month. I’m good with that. There’s a calm in that. And to top it off, here’s today’s Hidden Word:

O SON OF MAN!

Write all that we have revealed unto thee with the ink of light upon the tablet of thy spirit. Should this not be in thy power, then make thine ink of the essence of thy heart. If this thou canst not do, then write with that crimson ink that hath been shed in My path. Sweeter indeed is this to Me than all else, that its light may endure forever.

My Unconquerable Soul

Today marks the 3rd anniversary of the sudden passing of my father. I woke up in a dreary state, ready to read a prayer for the departed when his favorite hymn popped in my head. It’s called “It Is Well (With My Soul)” and I’m sure some of you know it. But bear with me as I tell the story of its origin again.

The songwriter, Horatio Spafford, was a real life Job. He lost his son to Scarlet Fever, then his business and real estate investments in the Chicago Fire of 1871. So he sent his remaining family – his wife and 4 daughters – ahead to Europe to start over. The ship sank and Spafford received a telegram from his wife stating “Saved alone”. All 4 daughters were lost at sea. On Spafford’s journey to join his wife, he pinned these words as he sailed past the site at which his daughters had lost their lives:

“When peace like a river, attendeth my way
When sorrow, like sea billows, roll
Whatever my lot, thou have taught me to know
It is well, it is well with my soul.”

My Version of It Is Well

Powerful Stuff! As a kid, I used to wonder why something so tragic created such a beautiful sentiment. I used to wonder why my Dad loved such stuffy melancholy.

His favorite poem was “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley (They even bore the same initials).

OUT of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Thanks, Dad, for teaching me how to overcome insurmountable adversity. You let me know that hard times would come. More importantly, every ounce of you embodied the most upbeat outlook on life and humanity I’ve ever known. Everyone who crossed your path felt that love (even if you never called it that). They all felt like they were worth something just from meeting you. What a gift you gave us all. We have unconquerable souls.

 

Random Thought

Today, I looked back at some dear friends’ social media feeds. I may have shed a tear. I wondered why everything about them seemed so perfect. Yes, they are beautiful people, but for a few moments I got wrapped up in how their captured moments seemed so effortless, so flawless. Then I remembered something important. These friends are genuine big-hearted lovers of life. Even the most authentic and soul-wretching moments of their lives are peppered with the sparkle that’s normally reserved for fairy tales – be they leading ladies or superheroes. It’s not always pretty, but it is always beautiful.

Normally this is where someone would vilify the filter of social media. And say it only shows the good, but never the real. Instead, I’m telling you that I know people who have real moments that are soul-purifying gorgeous. We’ve all seen the sparkle in a newborn’s eyes or the joy of a child at play with a new puppy. Some adults have worked and cultivated that joy in themselves and their peers, but instead of celebrating it, our culture has found ways to invalidate it. 

It’s what we’re all searching for, but we also believe that it doesn’t exist.

And to ease the discomfort of the discontinuity, we escape into our movies, our books, our shows, our alcohol, our weed, our sleep, and our social media. They all show us a better life, but our dreams can’t live solely in these things outside of ourselves. Our media and our habits play off of each other in a vicious cycle. All of the fantasy just pushes the dream farther away because we only see fake versions of the connection and glimmer we all wanted. It validates that the light only comes on when X happens, instead of giving us the power to turn on that light at will. And the happiness I feel when my profile pic gets over 100 likes is a fraud of my own genuine emotion.

How about escaping into my art? my writing? When’s the last time I sat in nature without headphones, my phone or a book? What if my escape was to connect with someone by being vulnerable? by sharing some part of myself? What if everyday I take 5 minutes that I would have spent marveling at how well something is written/acted/sang to create something of my own?

There’s nothing wrong with a little fantasy and a little escape, but I do take issue with a proxy for my own depth of connection and creative intelligence.

Sometimes winning feels like losing…

Happy Ridvan! Happy Easter!

This is the perfect time to reflect on how the year has been going. Spring has sprung and even though we had an eclipse, things should be in motion. And for me they definitely are. I can totally feel it. This week, a lot of interesting people told me a lot of very interesting things, so I thought I would share.

The first hit me like a wall of awesome: “When it starts getting scary, that’s good. It means you’re about to shift enough to make something happen.” I’ve never heard anyone put it quite like that. Thank you Informational Interviewer; I’m keeping this nugget. It actually made me feel good about fear, like I’m propelling towards something. The job search is getting scary. Mostly because I can tell that I’m at that defining point of committing to a life I’ve known or reinventing myself to do something completely new. The shift is so close.

Then a friend told me that I should “do whatever the hell I please because life is too short to do otherwise”. I’ve heard that many times before. We all have, but it struck me differently this week. In the past, it’s sounded like an excuse for reckless behavior or to break a few hearts (including my own) but this was different. This time it sounded more like ‘Don’t break your own heart; you’re in control of that and regret is a bitch; play by your own rules.’ If you haven’t guessed it, this further solidified the feeling that I’m going to have to jump off the ledge I’ve been hanging onto. This led me to re-evaluate some of the signs the Universe has been lobbing my way. (Like meeting a stranger at an apartment viewing, having brunch and then realizing he has the same name and is from the same place as someone I pushed to the back of my mind.) The Universe has basically been conspiring against my sanity for a week. So I played along, which inevitably resulted in some text messages I’d been avoiding. Emotional roller-coaster aside, it got me to this nugget.

In a conversation about the arts scene in Chicago, I said something is missing. It’s been hard for me to even grasp the scene. It doesn’t feel right. He made it blatantly clear that I’m what’s missing. Why didn’t I think of that? Full immersion and being open to it is the cure. So I’m diving back in instead of sitting in judgment. Then, of course, I tried to invalidate this realization because of who said it… and this showed up on my facebook newsfeed: “We often live from our expectations, rather than intentions and creating.” Well, damn. It may have taken 4 random people and a good shake, but I got it.

I shook up my entire life and then expected everything to settle back to what I was used to. That’s really dumb. I consciously, actively changed everything and sat back and thought I’d end up with a similar job and friends and lovers and comfort level. -_- I created something to break patterns and then got confused when it didn’t fit the old pattern. I already won! Then my expectations tried to make me feel like I’m losing.

 

So everyone has been proud of me because I’m had a bajillion interviews that many people would kill for (and I was proud of myself). To be honest, I was only halfway interested in those gigs and hoping they didn’t notice. And trying to be what you think someone else wants, when you only care 50-75% is not a very authentic way to live. I just don’t fit that pattern anymore. But there are 2 gigs I’m in contention for that I really do want. And I show up differently there. I have no script, I’m just living, expectation free. In all but those 2 interviews, I have been assured that the account and client are seeking ways to be more innovative. Now either I have been yawning my way through the interviews, or the accounts have a reputation counter to innovation and they thought the new girl in town wouldn’t notice. I can tell when people don’t like their jobs. I’ve been very open-minded but if it doesn’t feel right, I can’t fake it. Now I know why everyone back in LA asked me if I was staying at a traditional mega-account advertising agency when I told them I was moving. Y’all called it. I’m gonna jump off the ledge and see where I land. It’s going to be something I didn’t think I was trained for.

And the same holds true about creativity out here. It’s scary. There’s not a group of 500 people cheering me on. There isn’t even a group of people I can look at and aspire to. No one is out here running with me. There’s no fold to get lost in. There’s just: ‘Did I write/sing/love/embrace it? Or not? Did I even set a goal? Or did I set myself up to feel uninspired so that I would have something to sulk about?

So here’s to the reinvention that the Universe is offering me! And I hope you get a healthy dose yourself.

 

P.S. Tinder is weird. Probably not the best ledge to jump off, if you would like to be less judgmental or live life without a constant ego-boost.

Every Town Has it’s Ups and Downs…

So that title is from my favorite Roger Miller song in the animated Robin Hood that I grew up with. I promise life is really not all that depressing in Chicago. Ups drastically outnumber the downs here; the rainy day just has that refrain stuck in my head. There was an old man playing jazz piano in the grocery store and bunnies frolicked in my path on the way here. I’m sipping hot cocoa at my local coffee shop while they play Cold War Kids. I forgot my headphones, which seems to be the worst of my problems today, so I’m in good shape.

It’s probably a good thing that I forgot them, as I’m afraid that I’ve been isolating myself too much. There’s nothing quite so cathartic as being alone in a crowd when you’re homesick. Earlier this week, I saw an abnormally athletic fellow on the El. I immediately missed my vanity-muscled, hyper emotionally intelligent LA cohort of guys who used to bear hug me.

Slightly obnoxious instagram selfie (that I stole) of people who don’t exist in Chicago

Then yesterday, I gave the remainder of my dinner (which was doggy-bagged) to a man on the street. I was yelled at for giving food to “a crackhead” by a random bystander and it damn near brought me to tears. Why did the man in the tin foil costume care what I did with my food? And why did I care what the crazy guy thought? In my head, I just kept thinking “this wouldn’t happen in LA” and that maybe I was blowing it out of proportion because being yelled at is a lot scarier when I’m alone. I miss people. I miss the security of knowing my way around. I miss the sense of control that comes from residing in a “home”. I didn’t manifest this kind of irregular behavior in LA, I knew what to expect there. Chicago has a particular way of being as unpredictable as my emotions, just like the weather. It was 70 yesterday, but it’s supposed to snow tomorrow. This city gets me…  way.

Chicago in Springtime!

Now “Young at Heart” by Frank Sinatra is playing in this coffeehouse. I just re-watched the movie that the song hails from this week. It’s one of my favorite depictions of the cloudy artist temperament and the women who love them despite themselves. In the film, Doris Day/Lori Tuttle leaves “the perfect guy” at the altar to wed the self-loathing Frank Sinatra/Barney Sloane. She chose love over compatibility and instant happiness… I think that’s generally how I live my life.

I wish I could make a Fedora and a cigarette look this good… or maybe I just wish I knew Barney Sloane.

LA and I were very compatible. We had fun together, we knew how to communicate, and that heffa knew how to make ish sparkle. Then I ran off with the first major distraction that beckoned me. It’s days like this that I remember I didn’t move to Chicago to be happy. I was happy in LA. I moved here for a worthy challenge. And overcoming that brings forth a more perfect appreciation and love. If I manage to figure this relationship out, Chicago and I will have a much deeper bond than LA was capable of, so here I am.

In the movie, Frank and Doris reach their breaking point, but lightning strikes and finally he realizes his worth and potential contribution to their relationship and society, as a gleeful hit songwriter. It’s always the talented ones with the most potential who struggle with indecision and unrest… and that’s how I feel about Chicago in “Springtime” (side eye to the 20 degree windchill tomorrow).

Now Chicago looks like this.

I’ve met great people. Even in that serendipitous way that only happens in movies. But they don’t replace who I love; they aren’t substitutes, they’re additions. I’m caught in the struggle of expanding enough to fit everyone in. I have to break myself of the either/or mentality. My big brother, Will, said it best, “it’s better to fall on your face while moving up, then to fall on your face standing still.” I can’t hold on to my past while I’m sitting in my future. So I’m cultivating the art of pretending strangers are friends. I’d say I have a 40% success rate of creating genuine connection in unlikely places. I even made friends out of competing tenants while apartment hunting. We had an awesome brunch together in what could be our new neighborhood. But it’d be nice if I could do it everywhere I go, I just have to remember to take off my headphones and connect.

 

Young at Heart Clips:

If you have 10 mins and want an explanation of Frank’s character:

If you only have 3 mins and love Frank’s voice:

 

 

Don’t worry, I’m now on a shopping freeze.

Oh and this is what happens when I connect with the seller at my favorite store. I am obsessed with Aritzia and this hoodie. I’m so happy to finally live near the brick and mortar store. At this point, I may just commit to this look for spring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Roger Miller, Not in Nottingham: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2dImprgiB8

I don’t have a box here…

I’ve been in Chicago for 2 weeks already. Time sure flies when I’m trying to focus on about 6 goals simultaneously. Well, first things first. I decided to meet people. Ya know, interact and form bonds of some sort. So I reached out to all of the friends of friends that I was supposed to. At least, I hope I got to them all. (Apologies if I missed someone. Text me.)

Anyway, I ended up on a series of platonic blind first dates. It’s the kind of thing that would have been a nightmare in my past life. The awkward silences and the trying to understand why the mutual friend who set you up thought you’d click. Group meetings are so much easier.

“So how do you know …?” I’ve answered that so many times this week (and I’m so grateful that I didn’t have to provide any unsavory answers).

“What questions do you have about the city?” Well honestly, I’ve met at least 20 people who want to help me and all have different opinions about everything so I’ve stopped asking. I’ll just google it. We’re meeting because, although I’m no stranger to epic amounts of alone time, occasionally activity partners are fun, which is why this meeting is like an awkward platonic first date set up. That pesky human nature of wanting to be liked creeps in and suddenly, I’m laughing at unfunny jokes. I’m not doing it to be polite or to seem likable, but to trick my brain into the idea that this isn’t awkward and I’m genuinely entertained. I can’t judge someone over one coffee (well I could but it would likely be unfair) so I’ve decided to have a great time with everyone I encounter. The people who stick, win.

Now with investigation of people comes the investigation of neighborhoods. There are lots of stereotypes based in truths, but everyone has a slightly different version of where I should live and where I should hang out. It’s been quite informative in how people view me, so I welcome the generally unsolicited opinions. There’s something strange about the intense need to put me in the right box. Good luck! 😉

I currently reside in South Loop and I’d say 50% of people tell me to stay here. So I guess I deserve a pat on the back for choosing the up-and-coming, diverse, yet undefined neighborhood. It’s where developers are buying up lofts and “rehabilitating” them. The head nod and approval I get when I list my cross streets is affirming, but very strange. However, I really just landed here by chance, so the credit has to go outside of myself.

There’s so many neighborhoods here that my brain may explode. And I thought LA was bad. But in a city that doesn’t require a car, where you choose to lay your head defines you. One goal seems to be living close to work or school or a transit line that facilitates the commute between the two. This is logical. Other people are a bit more intense about it. According to my research, Chicagoans are apt to say things like “people like me don’t live there” or “everyone who is like me is moving here, so I will too”. And we can’t forget the “I live here because it’s diverse,” which just means you are gentrifying the neighborhood. I wonder if I can reverse gentrify a Northside neighborhood and make it cool again, because maybe this notion of “living in diversity” doesn’t apply to me in the same way if I am “diversity”.

This is like 1/3 of the city

The other issue I’m having is that everyone I’m meeting lives an hour away from each other on the Red Line. It’s like deciding between LA’s Westside and the valley, except there are a million places to get off and do cool stuff, unlike that strange residential-only parking lot of the 405. And to compound matters, people don’t socialize only where they chose to live. It’s like, I live here and I work there, so when I go out it’s way over there. Well then why are you so attached to the neighborhood you call home? Maybe it’s a winter hibernation thing that I’ll only understand after I’ve lived through it. Every social situation I have chosen in this city has involved more diversity than even I am used to. The CTA – every ethnicity, families, singles, cops, probably-not-cops, the homeless. Open mic nights – poets, musicians, singers, students, photographers, old people who just tell stories, tourists. Baha’i group dinners – Baha’is, agnostics, christians, at least 4 continents represented (well I guess diversity was expected amongst Baha’is). But I digress, now that I’m used to this, I’m afraid I’ll go into complete shock if I stumble into a Polish deli or a bro-y Irish pub. According to everything I’ve read and heard, I’m supposed to be surrounded by segregation, but so far I don’t see it.

 

But what I am surrounded by is couples. Cute old people with matching Burberry scarves and delightful accents. Married folks who probably go to the same natural hair shop to get their dreads tightened. Interracial high schoolers making out at Navy Pier. I’ve never seen so many people holding hands. Maybe it keeps their fingers warm because they keep forgetting gloves. (Granted, I have no idea how people wear rings when gloves are a requirement 5 months out of the year.) People don’t hold hands in LA. You’re almost lucky if you spy a couple that actually walks beside each other in a way that tells you they are a couple, but maybe they’re just friends, it’s always blurry. Everything in LA is so spread out. Why would you stroll hand in hand down a sidewalk when you’re probably in separate cars driving to meet a group of friends for hiking (or crossfit) and kale smoothies? Seriously, what do people even talk about if they don’t have dual hand access to their smartphones for conversation starters? How do you discuss the news, or our mutual friends social media updates, or directions to where we’re going?

All that to say, maybe the culture in Chicago lends to non-superficial relationships, romantic or otherwise. That or there’s a stronger motivation to “not be alone” and I’m now surrounded by raging serial monogamists. (shrug) Time will tell.

Act Like a Tourist, Dress Like a Hipster

On Sunday, I decided to take a stroll to Museum Campus and spend the day at the Field Museum.  Now, what should I do when I’m committed to being a tourist for the day? Dress like I belong in Silverlake! So somehow this happened…

I could justify it with saying ‘my jackets hadn’t yet arrived so I slipped into Urban Outfitters and tripped on this sale cardigan and knit toque’. But the truth is that my LA-ness really needed to express itself now that a season other than summer-with-a-westside-chill had finally presented itself. Apparently, this is just how I layer. I take full responsibility for there is no one else to blame.

Ok so those of you who know me well, know that I was off to a slow start in getting to the museum, especially since I was waiting for the temperature to be over 50 degrees. Once I was finally underway, I meandered through South Loop and found myself by some quaint condos near Soldier Field. There’s even Mark Twain Park with a playground, as if the quaint-ness couldn’t stand on its own.

The walk felt long. But if there’s something I’ve learned about Chicagoans, it’s that they walk. The walk to and around downtown. They walk the dog. They walk for exercise. They walk because it’s a nice day. They walk because wearing generic yoga pants, Asics and a matching North Face jacket/baseball cap combo is a way of life. I’m not sure I’ll be able to sit quietly if Chicago wants to turn me into that person, but it’s a viable option if I can keep the Irish Setters, Dobermans and Great Pyrenees these people get to have.

So I finally made it to the Field Museum. (cue ominous music) Maybe it’s the pillars that make is majestic. As I approached the museum, I realized that I had little intention of spending the $30 to go inside on such a beautiful day. And I would’ve only had 2 hours there. But I was still glad I’d made the trek… for this!

 

There’s a Chicago Dog vendor right outside the museum. Best hot dog ever! I can really appreciate a town that disdains ketchup and loves sweet peppers. Chicagoans have intricate palettes and I’m good with it. No seriously, fly to Chicago and eat this. It’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

I then headed towards the Shedd Aquarium to watch people, not the fish. There were lots of cyclists and pedestrians who were stoked about the beautiful day. There’s nothing like a Polar Vortex to make you appreciate a sunny 50 degrees fahrenheit. And there’s something very fresh about that kind of briskness. It’s the kind of weather that makes me snuggle inside my hipster cardigan and smile at high school sweethearts strolling through the park. This view also didn’t hurt. That’s right folks. I finally used the panoramic camera function on my phone.

 

Even though I spent my day as a tourist, in a strange hipster disguise, this adventure made me feel like I belong here.