And You May Find Yourself
Learning to Love Chicago
When I was younger, my family would go to visit the seashore.
We lived on the coast, in an elbow full of mountains and saltwater. On a good day, it would be cloudy out; it’d be a bit much to ask for a sunny day, so a rainless one seemed like a good enough compromise. The beach itself was idyllic, especially for an adventurous scamp of a child such as myself. I fell more in love with the ocean every time I saw it. There was so much to explore. I’d dig around in the sand and stones for seashells and breathe in the ocean air, wondering how in the world the shore was made from rocks and the rock made from great geological formations or, sometimes, volcanoes. My mother and my uncle loved to collect the coolest looking geodes. My favorite was just plain, clear quartz.
It’s a bit different to be in Chicago. The land is flat and relatively unmarred by volcanic activity. The shore is a lakeside, rather than an oceanside. There’s a heavy sort of opportunity that lies thick in the air, but there is also a tension lurking beneath the surface. I’ve spent the last week exploring parts of Chicago I didn’t even know existed (which is, admittedly, most of it). Some things are the same as my hometown, but the feelings I get are skewed. Despite these differences, it’s almost like I’m discovering a new type of home.
Walking the streets of Chicago is like realizing you’re falling in love; it’s slow, at first, because of how much detail you’re trying to commit to memory. It’s trying to extend and analyze every moment you have and come to a conclusion as quickly as possible. Starting in Chicago is trying to rush into an understanding. I spent the first couple of days trying to capture every moment on camera, to commit to pixels the nuances of which the terabytes of my memory wouldn’t be able to grasp.
I soon realized, after my camera trigger-finger abated, that there was so much more I could see if I disconnected from my technology. When I was taking photos I spent so much time trying to be in the moment that I missed out on what was really going on around me. In time, I took the chance to interact with the people we passed on the street. Even if it was just an exchanged smile, I felt more confident in my surroundings. I was pleased I had made a connection with someone. I wouldn’t say I got more confident in myself as the days went by (in fact, I probably got even shyer), but in every instance, in every quirky little garden and alley and sidewalk crack, I realized that there was an underlying beauty to every interaction, whether it be with my surroundings or the people in them.
I’m learning how to incorporate that sort of interaction into my daily life. Eye contact is difficult, so it’s certainly something to work on. Getting to walk Chicago with this group, to explore these communities and learn about their struggles and their triumphs, has given me a whole new perspective on the city. I have found myself sitting in reflection and thinking about the little things. Impressions of a place are based on how they make you feel; Chicago makes me feel like an ant. I am so very small in a world that is suddenly vast and intangible. Despite the fact I am small, though, I am also very strong. The things that I do and the connections that I make are things that can create an impact. Walking Chicago has been seeing how other people have made this city a great place to be; a place to fall in love with again and again.
(Title from Talking Heads — Once in a Lifetime)
