...Out of Chicago

I have always referred to her as a she.  She is quite a lady, my Chicago.  A concrete contradiction.  Of beauty and violence, of blizzards and beaches, of stunning diversity, and persistent segregation.  And I love her, despite how she makes me crazy, and fuels my tirades about the ills of, well, everything.

If this is my love letter to my chosen city, I want to tell her that I'm grateful.  For how much she's taught me, and for keeping me humble to the fact that I actually know very little about anything at all.  For teaching me to persevere through some gnarly, painful experiences.  For both strengthening me, and softening me.  

For exposing me more personally to the reality of systemic racism.  For further cultivating my deep desire to DO something about it, both here and abroad.  For allowing me the opportunity to learn from men and women who align their lives under the assertion that in fact we haven't yet arrived as a nation or a culture, but we're up to the task to get ourselves there.

For the privilege of relationships with people from all over the city, and all over the world.  Patients who persevere despite staggering obstacles, limited resources, and inconsistent access to broken systems.  Coworkers who choose to actively engage in the healing of others, and who are well aware of the fact that we receive far more than we give.  Neighbors who've taught me the value of community, and learning to ask for help.  Friends who are family, who have personified vulnerability, and honesty, and faithfulness these past 7 years.  Friends I am fiercely loyal to, and proud of, and dreadfully going to miss.

I won't miss the aggressive driving, or the 4 am SpyBar nonsense outside our condo.  But I will miss my walking commute each day, and the exposure to all sorts of shenanigans on CTA.  I won't miss the cost of food, any food, at Whole Foods.  But I will miss the the dazzling smile of the fish monger, who tries to charm me into buying salmon for only $20/lb.  I won't miss the hook-up culture at the bar, or what seems like the ever-devolving maturity of so many otherwise lovable men.  I will however, miss my freedom as a single woman to go out with whomever I want, whenever I want.  With neither a male chaperone nor a faux wedding band.  Which incidentally, I now own, and kind of love.

A few nights ago I had a few hours at home alone.  In my dizzied state of trying to figure out which of the million little things I should accomplish first, my body decided for me that I should actually dance my ass off.  To nobody's surprise I'm sure, "All Along The Watchtower".  Live of course (is there any other way?!).  And our windows were wide open, and my heart was wide open, and a part of me knew as I faced my city that it was our last dance together, at least for now.  

So thank you, you crazy lady, for being the most worthy dance partner, and occasional opponent these last 7 years.  Be sure to save some groove thang for me, as we're sure to meet again someday.