The past three weeks have been much harder than I ever expected. On June 26th I packed up my apartment and moved across the country with my best mate, our dog, and a single suitcase.
For the past few years my after college plan was to head west. To pack what I had and make a B-Line for greener pastures and sunny coasts. Now that the plan is in action the weight of the decision has finally hit me. I only lived in Chicago for 3 years but during those three years I learned more than the first 20 years of my life. For those three years my tiny studio apartment on the northside was home. Not just a place I lived… it was home. It was the place that I always wanted to hurry back to after a trip, the place that I was able to shut the door and be myself.
For the past three weeks I have been invited in to my friend’s uncle’s home. He has provided us with a place to stay and food on our plates but something is missing. For me, home was the place where you had to turn the knob in the shower exactly 36° to the right to get hot water, the place where I spilled an entire bucket of paint in the middle of the carpet, the place where the windows would freeze shut with a quarter inch of ice if the temp was below 15°f out. Home was the place where I knew all the quarks. I find myself stumbling around this house with a certian ignorance. Everyday I have to open three cabinates before I find a bowl for my cerial or look in two drawers before I find a spoon. After three years of having a home, this place seems so strange.
I keep having thoughts, regrets even, about leaving. I feel like I left the safty of Chicago that I had worked so hard to create. Not having a net to catch you when fall is scary, not having a place that feels like home is 10 times worse.
I suppose Im still searching for greener pastures. I really hope I find them soon. I’m glad I know what home feels like, it keeps me hopeful. I miss everyone one to the east. thanks for everything over the years.
