Where The Magic Lies
The city of Chicago has over 1800 miles of alleyways — the service streets that provide access to garages, backs of buildings, and, very commonly, dumpsters. No one barely ever walks through them. They are there to serve a purpose, and that purpose only. They run through most of the city and, still, are hidden in between the cracks. There is no beauty in the unexplored, right? Right?
Jennie Savage’s “Guide to Getting Lost” certainly proved me wrong. Some 32 minutes, chaos-driven, beauty-searching, walk-intended of purely getting lost, whatever that may look like to you. To me, it started in my usual spot: Belden-Racine Hall, Saturday morning. It was a hot day. I made the mistake of believing flannel season had started — it’s September after all. I put in my headphones and began to walk. Her directions were pointy and sharp, piercing through the quiet and often a little late to what my actual path looked like, still, I made it work.
Lincoln Park has started to become familiar to me. 3 weeks have passed and I’d say I know my way around. Yet, never had I imagined there was a whole new world to be discovered standing in between the intricately carved brownstones. I took a left, like Jennie told me to — after so much walking I think we’ve reached a first-name basis –, only to enter one of many of Lincoln Park’s alleyways. The ground beneath my feed jagged and rough, the air around me still. Time stops when you are standing in an alley, don’t ask me why. Rows of houses reveal their new faces, with wooden stairs, and rusted garage doors. Alleys are not that secluded. One can very well simply walk through them. Still, they feel private. I couldn’t help but feel like I was invading someone’s life. With their boxes left by the dumpster, their basketball hoops, and their little gardens, I got a glimpse into every resident of that area.
I was not the only one walking through those alleys, though. A man and his dog passed me by, tail wiggling, tongue out. A woman, hand-in-hand with her daughter, on what might have been just a leisurely stroll, or a serious conversation. Cars going in and out of garages, driving to work, to school, to go shopping, or just to take in the scenery of the Lake.
This system of alleys hid so many more stories than I could ever try to write. The sprawling backstreets flourished with life so unfamiliar to me. I had only ever walked Lincoln Park through the usual tree-lined streets. They are beautiful, yes, but alleyways spark my curiosity and evoke the dormant detective in me. I need to inspect every detail in them — and, believe me, there are many!
Out of the alley, I stumble upon the Skyline, and, for a second, seeing beyond the horizon is like a breath of intoxicating fresh air. Sometimes I like being reminded of how small I am, and looking at something as tall as the skyscrapers in Chicago is definitely grounding. The Wind starts to pick up. Strong, uncaring strokes, as the windy city paints itself on me.
I now have no idea where I am. No idea whatsoever. I have turned left and right and left again on so many alleyways and random residential streets that I’ve lost all sense of direction. Jennie is talking in my ear and I am trusting her. I enter a new alley — there is nothing necessarily new about it, it is the same dumpsters, the same cars, and the same uneven brick on the ground. A house stands out to me. Shiplap-covered, pastel blue doors, and a small front garden straight out of an English cottage. Above the doors hangs a sign reminding me that “Fairytales do come true.”
The magic of Lincoln Park is found in the little things, hiding among the bushes, behind the trees, between the houses, above the ground, and below your feet, far from what the eye can see, and, yet, right in front of you. It is just a question of knowing where to look.
Response to Reading question #2:
There are many ways to get lost. One can get lost with a purpose, like a writer might hide in the woods, or a singer may rent a cabin for the summer. One can simply get lost, not because they want, but rather involuntarily. Getting lost in the city is something entirely different. To lose yourself in the city is to hide in plain sight. To slide into anonymity, and embrace the loneliness of being amongst thousands of others just like you. Being lost in the city is to look inward and find yourself. To walk for miles and let your mind wander through the darkest paths, examine each aspect of ‘you’. A true walker, meanderer, saunter, flâneur lives in a constant state of lostness, forever looking for the unfindable in between the millions of things a city has to offer. I have walked all my life, I have taken in the city many times, let the wind flow through me, let the city engrave itself on my skin. Yet, I am not a walker, I have not reached their level, and nor do I know if I ever will. (189 words)
