Last night, I went to my last small group gathering in Chicago.
The magnitude of the fact didn’t hit me until I gave my first goodbye. I realized the next time I’d see my friend was in the new year, when I’m back briefly to be commissioned by my church. “Woah,” I said as my eyes filled with tears. “It’s getting real.”
Yes, the bittersweet goodbye pangs are finally starting, as are the harsh realities of leaving. No more bouncing around the Midwest and Southeast like I have for a year-and-a-half. No more dipping in and out of two worlds. Truly, with each step I take toward Athens, I take another away from my old life. And as exciting as I am to move onto my next life chapter, my chest hurts as I say goodbye to the world I knew, to my Chicago.
I walked down Logan Boulevard yesterday and today, passing my old haunts. Everywhere I looked was full of my history and, particularly, the history of my 20s. It’s appropriate that as I move forward in my 30th year, I start a new adventure in a new world. But the goodbyes are hard.
I loved my life in Chicago. I’ve made the most wonderful friends in the world, been a part of the best communities, experienced the greatest concerts, visited the best coffee shops and had the best food. I lived in Old Town, Avondale and Logan Square. Logan Square and Wicker Park were my haunts—ass was downtown, anytime I could. I turned into a child every time I walked past the skyscrapers of Michigan Avenue to see the Wrigley Building and Tribune Tower. I lived a full life here and I came into my own.
And now I’m just another transient saying goodbye to the beautiful city. For all its pain and brokenness, I love this place more than I ever could have imagined. I never even thought I’d be here long, really. I’d decided on a whim to visit for my last spring break in college and ended up finding an apartment, a part time job and church in about 24 hours—without looking. The move became reality when I sold my car to pay my first month’s rent and deposit, and thanks to the $10 overnight Mega Bus ticket, I moved with just a suitcase full of things to a city I didn’t really didn’t know in hopes of pursuing my writing dreams.
Now, almost seven years later, I’m leaving the city, once more stowing everything I own in suitcases pursuing dreams also include writing, but this time with a bigger purpose. I don’t have that much more stuff than what I originally brought with me to Chicago. I have a box of momentos, some clothes and my books. No furniture, no house full of memories. I sold all of those a year-and-a-half ago. Someone else lives in those homes and other people use the goods that once surrounded me. I didn’t leave a physical mark on the landscape of this city or build a tower in my name. When I leave, no trace of my stay remains.
I pray the people I met, the community I grew, and the churches I loved, have somehow been changed, though. Is that too bold to say? (I am an Enneagram 4, after all). I pray, also, that they know how dear they are to me. Though no trace of my physical presence may linger, save perhaps a pendant, I hope I’ve left a mark on their lives letting them know they are loved. Loved, not just by me, but with a love far surpassing anything I can give. A true and perfect Love that brought us together and that remains, even as I depart. And, that hopefully will reunite us one day soon.
As I sit at New Wave in Logan Square, I reflect back on my years in the city: of Help Portrait’s warmth during the cold of Christmas, of GC on Eric’s back porch, runs down North Avenue Beach, the Sunday brunch club after church and setting up candles in the fireplace of my apartment in Logan Square. Of concerts galore and my brief time in the music industry. Of writing, writing, writing. Of working in a dear, secondhand bookstore. Of Halloween sightings on the L and learning the streets of Chicago from behind the wheels of a bike. Of Lollapalooza, Pitchfork, the Chicago Theatre and concerts in Millennium Park. Candlelight services at Covenant. Easter dance parties at Missio Dei. The Christkindle Market and lights of Lincoln Park Zoo. The Art Institute and Field Museum. Insight and the healing I found while there. And, my favorite: seeing both Sufjan Stevens and Radiohead and hearing my favorite songs—ever ever—played live.
So much of this city shaped me into who I am. And now I’m saying goodbye.
I couldn’t be more ecstatic about the road ahead of me; but I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t say it’s tearing my heart apart. It will bleed for a while, and slowly heal. The relationships here will change, but they will always remain memories I cherish. And, I think someone’s grandfather somewhere once said, life isn’t what you take with you, it’s about the memories you gather.
It’s not totally goodbye, Chicago. It’s just goodbye for now. (I’ll be back to get my visa before the final adieu.) But oh, how I shall always love thee and think of thee fondly. Even if I’ve decided against a tattoo in your honor. (You’re welcome, Mom.)