Chicago, you are officially 235 pounds lighter.
It been a long time coming that I would write this goodbye letter to you. I have known of my leaving for the past two months, planning it for the past year, and yet it took me awhile to find the right words to say. Lets start with you.
You, Chicago, are a city with no comparison. Your stunning architecture and cultural history are only outmatched by your food (and kung-fu treachery). Millions have flocked to your promise, and while you have turned away many, multitudes have found solace at your teat. You are truly a city with a rough past, incredible milestones in human achievement, and a rough future.
For me, I will always look back on the past and think fondly of you. A certain picture with my Dad in Grant Park when I was two will always symbolize a simpler time for me, and perhaps for much of the world to come. Upon returning from my year abroad, I was riddled with uncertainty concerning the modernity surrounding me. You were the city that gave me desires to rekindle my love for the United States. Most of the women I have loved have been involved with you in some way, and have painted their personalities into your winds, your waves, and your noise. My time living inside of you on both occasions signifies much inner development and growth. You were the place I decided that I could live my life with someone forever, the place I began to realize how much harder it is to change another person than it is to change ones' self, and the place where I enjoyed being hung over the most. And if it weren't for all of this, then I would write you off in a new york minute.
Chicago, now I know when it comes to peoples' problems with you, the line stretches to Springfield. All the complaining about the corruption, segregation, poverty, and presence of that ghastly red blemish of a building in the skyline (my personal pet peeve) can make you resistant to listen. But I implore you to hear me out, to listen to my measure of you, and where I have found you wanting.
Now I am not a perfect person, by individual nor community standards. When it comes to life's lessons, I learn the hard way, and I prefer it that way. Maybe in this, Chicago, we have much in common. Returning to you to spend two more years of my life was a no-brainer at the time. I was still very excited with the offers and opportunities you had. I felt called to learn about social justice more deeply, and in your setting, I felt that I would benefit greatly. Sadly I was mistaken.
See, you as a city have been characterized by your windiness. The tourists thinks it means not to visit in the winter season (September-June). The locals, too dense to leave in the winter, believe the meaning to be indicative of the time honored political behavior of the city. But I believe there is more. I sat for two years in a very old and very pretty building, across from a Bentley dealership, in the richest zip code in the U.S. of A. In that building, I sat for hours, listening, lets be honest, sometimes listening to what people my senior had to say about this situation "out there" and how to change it. When I wasn't in this building, I was in another building further downtown with people even more my senior, scheming and paying lip-service to an organizational zeitgeist. I would follow in public displays of advocacy and protest, all the time watching and looking to learn from these experiences. Occasionally, I would have a meal, maybe a little ripple, with a friend affiliated with Chicago's social justice movements, and every time exhaustion, frustration, and a growing sense of apathy led the conversation. I watched as white liberals, in efforts to stifle corporate growth, stifled black liberals instead. I watched lost people speak as if they had ever actually had an answer in their life (myself included). I watched a surprisingly visible wind engulf the city in its fleeting hope, its torrential capriciousness, its malice and pain.
Chicago, if anything can be said of you, its that you can make a fool out of the wisest of all of us. The promise of change is there, then gone with the wind. The promise of an enjoyable life is there; gone, with the wind. Again and again what seems achievable is only a mirage, and one slowly begins to understand why so many are so attracted to your siren call, and dashed onto your rocks. Again, many love you Chicago and will never consider leaving you, which for those kind of people is a fitting fate (not talking about everyone, simmer). But I'm not here to hate. I am just as foolish and lost. But the only difference now is that I know differently, and I've decided to search elsewhere for an answer.
With this, I must take my leave. I am likely to be back time and again, and though much good comes from your existence, the evil and death of dreams was choking me. Even though I feel my destiny in leaving will be much like that of Roland the Gunslinger, this is my path. As I end my words to you, let me give you a glimmer of hope about returning to the center of my heart: I will always love you more than Ft. Collins, CO. Not saying much, but that's the best I can do for now. Until next time, mon ami.
Richard, I'd like to agree, in that the existence of God is not probable. But why, exactly, if there is no God, and human and universal chaos run the show, do I have a single reason to stop worrying?
If there is no God, then everything is lawful - Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov
"Chicago, you are officially 235 pounds lighter."
ReplyDeleteBest opening line I have read in a long time. I suspect you will develop into a master blogger.