where my feet lead
4:35–My starting position is in front of the Schmitt Academic Center. I open up the Dérive app on my phone and wait for its first instruction. The app tells me to make the next left after I see someone wearing red shoes. The street begins to reach a dead end after a few minutes, no red shoes in sight. I notice a group of young adults by a wall, and I surmised they were taking headshot photos for one of the women. My eye finally catches a red sole sauntering past me–a man on an intensely paced run. I turn left.
4:48–The next direction of the Dérive app tells me to “follow the music.” Music from passing cars whirs by my ears, but each car leaves my sight the moment I sense their speakers. I suddenly approach a building with a sign that read, “Old Town School of Folk Music.” I had been here once before while exploring Lincoln Park with my parents over the summer. Although I could hear no music, I decided for this to be my stop.
5:02–I happen to approach the L tracks just as a train trails by. I stare up at the moving train and the rusty platform. The city is always moving around me. I adjust my movements to synchronize with its ebb and flow. The little moment I pause to observe the passing train changes every next move. Although it seems so insignificant, this one occurrence impacts the rest of my walk, and perhaps even more. I am the author of my own destiny.
5:15–I am slowly growing tired of the Dérive app. Every time I click for a new instruction, I am prompted to start over due to the app’s slow buffering speed. As I walk by my own accord, I notice a family walk past me. The mother tries to reason with her daughter to cool her down after crying. I tell the little girl that her princess dress looks pretty, and I smile, contemplating the probability of me throwing a similar tantrum twelve years earlier.
5:22–It begins to drizzle, but the misty air is soft and welcoming paired with the sun. I listen to the relaxing noise of cars driving down the slick pavement. There are hardly any other pedestrians, and the area is quite industrial, but this moment creates a sense of peace.
5:29–My absent mind has completely given up on the Dérive app. I convince myself that it will be more of an adventure to continue getting lost organically. I come across a seemingly abandoned building with art pasted over the front entrance. I spot graffiti and garbage, along with three modern designs.
5:34–My eyes wander west, and I realize that I am walking parallel to the highway. I make out the shape of a dome across the way, and I instantly decide to head in that direction; this building is my favorite church, St. Mary of the Angels. I am growing fonder of this city. Even in attempting to get lost, I find someplace familiar and loved.
5:37–A rugged and overgrown field catches my eye. In the midst of the urban jungle, real plants grow from under the rubble. The city is full of new beginnings. I wonder how different this plot of land will look 100 years from now, and 100 years after. This little speck Chicago could very much evolve from dust into skyscrapers. Only time will tell.
5:41–I traverse underneath the highway to Bucktown, where St. Mary’s beckons for me. As I make my way down, the smell of sewage wafts up my nose, and rows of tents line the shafts of the bridge. Guilt brews in my guts. I look down at the ground to avoid making eye contact with the homeless man I cross paths with. I know I am lucky to be in my shoes rather than his.
5:46–I arrive at St. Mary’s. The church is a work of art. The stone angels lining the roof watch over me as I gape in awe. I am upset that I arrive an hour earlier than Sunday night mass begins, but this does not deter me from moving forward. I continue to admire the magnificent structure before me. In this moment, I remember the story my mom told me of a fire in this church. According to the Encyclopedia of Chicago, a fire in 1958 claimed the lives of 92 students and 3 nuns–at the St. Mary of the Angels parochial school, spurring nationwide fire safety protocol. I wonder if the ghosts of those who died return to the church to see its beauty once again.
5:53–I spot a fireman’s uniform next to a firetruck with no fireman inside. It is a little odd to see boots and pants stand on their own. Rock music reverberates inside the fire station, and I hear a man’s voice. I assume he is a firefighter doing maintenance work on the truck. I happen to pass a fire station after visiting the sight of Chicago’s third deadliest fire; is this a coincidence?
6:15–A biker, moving in the opposite direction as me, shouts, “Hey, beautiful!” in my direction. I suppose cat-calling becomes more frequent on the streets once the sun begins to set. I laugh, relieved that I am on my route back home.
6:28–I am almost back at my dorm. Vibrant colors paint the sky. I reflect on where my feet lead me. Nearly two hours of walking tire me out, and the object of my thoughts quickly switch to the aroma of freshly baked pizza that swirls into my nose from a restaurant down the corner. However, due to the fact the pizza was most likely deep dish, I ventured on home. The pieces of me that I have scattered today expand my personal web of connection in Chicago. I have experienced a day in this are that I will never have anywhere else. Where I go shapes me into who I am. Where my feet lead, my heart will readily follow.
