Chicago has been my home for about two and half years. Long enough for me to have lived in three apartments. Long enough for me to have tried and tried and tried and finally made the decision to leave a relationship that wasn’t working. Long enough to know East from West and which El stops are kind of dangerous and that no matter how cute dogs on walks are, you can’t just stop and pet all of them. This week I had to say goodbye to the city that I’ve fallen in love with and that has been the first place I’ve ever felt truly at home. A few months ago, I was in a place where I wanted to throw everything I had worked towards away. I wanted to flee the city, the country, I wanted to run and run and run until I could finally figure myself out. But that feeling has since subsided; it didn’t take me long to end up in a pretty okay place. I had new friends and new roommates, a comfortable living situation, artistic projects to work on. But I had told myself I was going away. So away I go.
I try to remind myself it’s not so bad because I’ll probably be back – probably. Probably. But I also know that things will never be the same. I feel like I’ve spent so much of my adult life trying to recreate my childhood, constantly forgetting that I can’t actually turn back time. Forgetting that once you move on from something, it’s gone forever. My relationship with my parents, with my childhood home, with the neighborhood in which I grew up – I can’t fix it, because it doesn’t exist anymore. My parents and I have a relationship now, but it is completely different than the one we had when I was a child. And I’m scared that my relationship with this city and everything in it and everything I love about it will be tainted in my own eyes by my absence.
So it was with tears in my eyes, and also streaming down my face and smudging my mascara everywhere, that I bade my farewells to my friends and someone that has become a more-than-friend, my cat and my roommates, my income and stability. I know that saying goodbye is just part of growing up – you can’t move on to something better without leaving something behind. I know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Because what if it’s not better? What if I don’t make friends and I’m all alone and miserable all the time? What if I hate traveling, but I’m stubborn and know I won’t stop until I’ve found something I’m looking for? What if? What if? What if I’ve thrown away the beginnings of an actual healthy relationship for something that I don’t even know will make me happy? What if I don’t want to come back? What if I get sick? What if? I guess I won’t know until I try. It’s not like nobody else has ever done this before.
Goodbyes are hard because you are leaving behind your comfort zone and stepping into the unknown. But the only thing that terrifies me more than the unknown is leading a boring, safe
life.