January 2022 marked the start of my fifth month living in Chicago.
Talking with friends and family, they all ask the same question: how do you like living in the city? These conversations are usually quick catch-ups happening in passing so there’s only one good – well, easy – answer.
“I love it.”
“It’s great.”
“I’m really enjoying it.”
However I decide to phrase it.
Most people don’t really want to know how it is. They ask out of courtesy with the expectation that this big and brilliant and exciting city is all it’s cracked up to be.
“How close are you to downtown?”
“Have you taken the L?”
“How’s the deep dish pizza?”
“Do you love your apartment?”
“Is it windy?”
Chicago is romanticized differently from cities like New York or Los Angeles. But no matter which city it is, it’s easy to feel both powerful and powerless when surrounded by such energy, influence, and vigor. The height of the buildings and the blurred rush of people and traffic are nothing compared to what happens behind the scenes. Each person in their studio apartment, in the back of an Uber, on the train, riding the elevator up to the 40th floor of their office building, carrying their groceries home, has their own world and existence. This concept is called sonder; “the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.” It’s something I’ve thought a lot about lately as I’ve reflected on my own path. At twenty-two, there’s a notion of being in the prime of life (new opportunities, freedom, etc.). But prime is the last word I’d use to describe my current position. The way I see it, I’m in the process of life.
When this thought came to me, of course, I then referred to a dictionary definition of process: “a continuous action, operation, or series of changes taking place in a definite manner.” Yeah, I thought, I am continuously operating as I go through a series of changes. I guess it depends on how you want to define prime, but I think my life’s prime is a little further down the road. How could I be in my prime when I have so much more to accomplish, to figure out?
I end up wondering how many other people feel this way and really hoping that someone can relate. Aligned with the idea of sonder, everyone is chasing their own unique aspirations. This sense of a chase can be overwhelming; knowing that there’s always something more out there to do, to feel, to see, to have, to learn. At the end of the day, aren’t those experiences, those possibilities, what we really ache for?
As a post-grad living in a new city, I have my share of aching to do. I wish I meant what I said when I give those “easy” answers to the people who ask me how life is. This isn’t to say that I don’t like my life here, there’s just so much more that goes into it. There are moments when I feel like I’ve got it all figured out and others when I question everything. I catch myself going back and forth between saying “it feels like I moved here just yesterday” and “I feel like I’ve been here forever.” There’s no good way to describe the passage of time when every single thing is new and different. Schedules don’t yet feel permanent. Still mastering the timing when I walk to the train to get to work. Joining yet another Zoom call and introducing myself, explaining that I started in August and that it’s nice to “e-meet” you! None of it feels normal (yet). I won’t even start on COVID. There’s all of this stress and uncertainty because I am starting [real] life in a new and different place, but I moved because I was aching for something new and different. So, have I done it? Am I new and different now?
Walking the couple blocks from my apartment to the lake, the sun is starting to set. I’m a sucker for this time of day; the few precious moments when the last of the sun strikes the world aglow. The sky is clear of clouds so colors spill through the naked tangles of tree branches and onto the top halves of buildings, lighting up the brick and stone in a way that previously seemed impossible. In the winter it’s rare that I make it outside for this. By 4:30 or 5:00 p.m. the sun is long gone, taking the yellows, pinks, and oranges, with it and leaving us with blacks, purples, and blues. I hop down the concrete slab stairs that lead to the water and stand at the edge. There’s something so satisfying about staring out onto the endless waves. Bodies of water are filled with such uncertainty, but it doesn’t bother me as uncertainty usually does. Rather than uncertain, water is ambiguous. It has purpose and freedom while accepting the changes and movements that are constantly occurring within its body. I think to myself, God, with depth like that, how will anyone truly know how beautiful you are?
At this hour, the lake is a deep blue-green with hints of orange and pink reflected from the sky. I breathe in the bitter air and wish I could be a body of water, too. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so bothered by the unpredictability of life. The waves make it look so easy to roll with the punches. I make a mental note to be mindful of the world around me – good and bad. The people around me, living their lives, will do what they do, and I will do the same. All throughout the process of life, and one day, throughout the prime.
What do I ache for? In all honesty, I’m aching to figure it out. But, as I’m learning, figuring it out takes time. That I can accept. I will keep yearning for answers, I will remain eager to explore, I will always long to grow, I will ache to live a life that I can make meaningful.
What do you ache for?
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