Turkey Tumble

Well, I was on a roll for a while, but then the writing sort of faded out again. I still fall into the same old trap all the time – the trap of feeling like I have nothing significant to write about. And sometimes, it is hard of something interesting to talk about that happened since I last wrote. However, something occurred to me the other day. I have 25+ years of experiences to draw on, and most of those 25 years passed long before I started this blog or even my Sweden journal. I have years and years worth of stories to tell! And without further ado, I thought I’d start with a brief look into my senior year of high school. This memory came back to me the other day and it took everything in me to keep myself from laughing out loud and seeming crazy to the people around me. Self-deprecating though it may be, it’s definitely a story worth telling.

Every fall, my high school’s drama department put on a children’s play. When I was a senior, I was given a part of Tanya the Singing Turkey. That’s right, a singing turkey. And let me tell you, I was excited about this. The story said that Tanya Turkey and her husband Toulouse had recently moved to the North Pole and were new to the idea of Christmas. Their neighbors (penguins, of course) came over to say hello, and Tanya and Toulouse were excited to share their new knowledge of the holiday. And so they begin to sing the most ridiculous string of fractured Christmas carols imaginable.

The lyrics were hysterical enough to be a story on their own, though unfortunately I don’t remember any of them any more. But my strongest memory of that show had nothing to do with any of the performances. It happened during a rehearsal. Our first dress rehearsal, in fact. We wanted to evoke the colorful feather patterns of a turkey while leaving the details to the children’s imaginations, so my costume consisted of an oversized tie-dyed t-shirt, bright orange wind pants, and most importantly – to this story, at least – brown and red striped toe socks.

There was one point in the show where I suddenly had to take off running and do about 4 laps around a table. (Why, you ask? Truthfully, I don’t remember the exact context. But the show was about singing turkeys. Stop asking questions.) We had rehearsed the show many many times by now, and I had never had a problem with losing my balance. But remember that this was my first time doing the show in costume, and the costume involved socks and no shoes. And the stage was rather dusty. I’ll give you a moment to form your own mental picture of what happened when I took off running.

…

That’s right. I went flying.

And I do mean FLYING. You know how usually, when you fall, you don’t remember the fall itself? All of a sudden you are just on the ground and wondering how you got there. Well this time, I got so much hang time that I remember being in the air. And while I was airborne, I can remember thinking something along the lines of “oh, socks, right…”

Hysterical laughter ensued for several minutes after that, coming from the rest of the cast as well as me. And to add insult to injury, this happened to be the day that the director had decided to video tape the show so we could critique ourselves. I lost count of how many times she played it back over the next few days.

It was embarrassing for sure, but still a moment that I look back on with fondness. It was a moment of pure, innocent, untainted humor, and my drama friends and I talked of it constantly for months until something else hysterical happened.

And it’s a memory I still carry with me, almost 7 years later. That, I truly believe, is what makes it a story worth telling.

The choice that isn't a choice...

Greetings, everybody! I’m back after a one-week hiatus. I didn’t have time to write last weekend because I was a leader at the Chicago Cares Serve-a-Thon all days Saturday, and I also spent a good chunk of Sunday recovering from it. It was awesome, but it wore me out.

The poster frame debacle went on for a while longer and got even more ridiculous, but I did eventually get a refund. I ordered a different frame from a different company yesterday, so we’ll see if this one goes any better. I also bought two other pieces of Chicago art at the Wells Street Art Fair last weekend: one monograph of the skyline and one drawing of the el in the loop. They are both significantly smaller than the poster, so I didn’t expect a big problem with the frames. However, I did find out quickly that neither of them are standard sizes. Earlier today, though, I found the right size frames at Joann’s, and even got them for 50% off, so all is well. I put the art in the frames and they look nice. I just need to stop at Home Depot on the way home later and buy some picture-hanging hooks.

But anyway, on to today’s topic….

I seem to be, once again, at a fork in the road. Most of you know that I am a textbook editor at a university, and that for the most part, I love my job. Right now I’m the lead editor on an advanced algebra book intended for about 10^th grade, and I’ve had the opportunity to help with important curricular decisions, write activities and problems, research application contexts, and more. They sent me to my first conference in April. And most importantly, they make me feel much more valued and appreciated than any other job ever has. I’m doing something that I’m really good at, that I’m well trained for, and that is honestly fun and exciting for me. I adore my job.

However, the one of perils of working in textbook development, rather than textbook publishing, is that the project is grant funded and therefore has and end date. I knew when I accepted the job that the money would run out and my job would cease to exist no later than July 2009.

I have absolutely no regrets about taking the job. But now that the end of the project is barely a year away, I do have to start thinking about what I’m going to do next. So imagine my surprise and excitement when someone from the same university called me last week to ask if I’d like to be involved in another project that has an end date of 2013.

If I chose to go work for them, I’d be working on books from the same series as I work on right now, but at the elementary level rather than secondary. When I met with them, they said I would probably be staffed on fifth and sixth grade books, which is a good thing since by background is much stronger in secondary math than elementary math. I’d still be involved in the development of the books, so I’d be able to do the same kinds of things my current job has allowed me to do, not just italicize variable and add commas like I did when I worked in commercial publishing. And what’s more, during our meeting, the directors of this project told me that I could transition over to them at any point I wanted – at the end of the summer when my book is finished, or even in a year when the entire project is over.

It seems like a no-brainer, right? It seemed that way to me, too, at first. How can I even consider this a choice? Not only is this opportunity as close as I’m going to get to staying at my current job (which, again, I love), but there is no other alternative! No other alternative, that is, besides sending our dozens of resumes, going on dozens of interviews (if I’m lucky enough to get them), constantly worrying I’m going to run out of money before I get a job and end up staying on someone’s couch again, and so on and so on.

So why on EARTH am I hesitating? Loathe as I am to admit it, at the back of my mind is a tiny voice saying, “if you applied elsewhere, you could make more money.” Which is probably true. If I take this new grant position, I will probably continue making roughly what I make now. If I went back to working in commercial publishing, I would probably make $5 more an hour just to start. And that could lead to a dramatic change in lifestyle.

I’m not saying that I don’t like my life now. I do. But the truth is that I struggle with money sometimes. A lot of the time. And as I watch my friends who work in big business buy condos and clothes shop without hesitation, I do wonder if selling my soul to a corporate enterprise would be worth it.

I feel guilty even writing that, and I know deep down in my soul that will take the new job at the university and be happy for it. Because I’m getting by just fine. I’ve found ways to have a good time on a budget, and some of the things I’ve had to cut back on (like eating out) are better for me anyway.

But when I do take the job, I have to admit I’ll need some time to mourn the things I could have had if I was content to do nothing but italicize variables and add commas for the next 20 years. To help you understand where I’m coming from, and perhaps make you giggle a time or two, I’m going to write a wish list of the things I am giving up by doing something I really love to do.

1. An apartment with more than one room. I live in a studio apartment right now with about 300 square feet of living space. Honestly, most of the time I don’t mind, because I really don’t own enough furniture or anything else that will fill more than 300 square feet. But sometimes I can’t help but think to myself, “crimeny, can I get a friggin bedroom?” While I have plenty of space for me and my cat, the thought of inviting anyone over is out of the question. It’s physically impossible for more than two people to see my 14-inch TV at the same time unless 3 people know each other well enough to all sit on my 2-person love seat. How many pairs of people do you know that you’d be comfortable sitting hip-to-hip with for a 2-hour movie? I think I’ve made my point.

2. A kitchen with counters. This sort of goes along with #1, but not necessarily, because some one-bedroom apartments have kitchens smaller than mine. But the kitchen in my apartment consists of a sink, mini range, and refrigerator right next to each other, and about 2 feet of counter space on the other side of the sink. Half of that is taken up by my dish drainer (no, silly, I do not have a dishwasher), and the other half by a cutting board. Which means I have absolutely no counter space for anything else. I’ve often had to mix things while the bowl was on the stove, which is complicated when one of the burners is on, and even when the burners are off, because the range has a pilot light. Again, I’ve found ways to get around it, and nine days out of ten I am reheating leftovers rather than cooking anyway. But it’d be really nice to have some counter space. I mean, occasionally I’ve had to adjust cooking times on my crock pot because it’s been sitting on the stove all day and I know the pilot light will have hurried the cooking along. Go ahead and say it. That’s just sad.

3. Purchases that I can forget about. I’m not asking to not have to think about hundred-dollar clothing purchases or thousand-dollar vacations, but there was a time when I didn’t have to save the receipt from my $5 frozen yogurt purchase or my $10 movie ticket. Now, every cent I spend goes into a spreadsheet to make sure I don’t overspend my monthly income. I start forgetting small purchases, and they will add up and get me into big trouble. The really ironic thing is, the time when I didn’t have to worry about that was while I was in college. Now, I have a bachelor’s degree, a master’s degree, and a job, and yet money is tighter. Kind of counterintuitive, eh? But it makes me realize how lucky I was to have a full-ride scholarship back then.

You know, I’m surprised, but those are the only three things I can think of. Those are the things I wish I had that I know I can only get by giving up a job I know I will really love to do something I know I won’t love.

I know this probably seems like a big pity party and complaint fest to anyone reading this. But thanks for reading anyway. Because you know what I’ve learned by writing this?

It’s totally and completely going to be worth it to take that job.

I hate you, UPS.

Alright, so I know that usually my blogs are more commentary and less straight-up storytelling, but this week I have a story that is just dying to be told. It is a story of great woe for me, but I am hoping that by writing about it I will lessen my frustration with the situation, and more importantly, give my readers (all two of you) some laughs. So sit back and enjoy…

The Saga of the Poster Frame

For several weeks after receiving my $300 stimulus payment from the man that will (thank God) not be president much longer, I deliberated over what I should spend the money on. After soliciting ideas for superfluous purchases from friends and strangers alike, I decided I’d use the money to purchase some art for the one blank wall left in my apartment. Ever since I moved in, I’ve been wanting some Chicago-themed stuff to hang there – a painting of a city scene, a map, maybe a skyline photo – but I had yet to be able to afford it and I thought this was the perfect opportunity.

My first purchase was a Chicago neighborhood map from the Chicago Architecture Foundation. Let me tell you, this poster is COOL. It shows over fifty neighborhoods, all the train lines, all the parks and beaches, and more. And the art itself is amazing. Everything is hand-drawn and it’s done in deep jewel-tone colors, which are my favorite. So, after I bought it, I couldn’t wait to hang it up.

However, hanging the poster required having a frame. So, after I noted the poster’s dimensions (27” by 39”), I went on a hunt for the correct size frame. One Sunday afternoon, I went into every store I could think of in a 2-mile radius of my apartment: Linen’s and Things, Bed Bath and Beyond, Target, Marshall’s, World Market, and probably others I cannot remember right now. No 27” by 39” frames. Apparently the largest size carried by your average store is 24” by 36”. (An aside: If I were reading this at work, I would circle all those quotes and mark them to be changed to straight lines to look like the actual inch symbol. However, I am not at work, so I can’t tell the production people to change them, and I am too lazy to do so myself.)

After my failed attempts at purchasing a frame for my beloved poster in a store, I decided to order one online. I shopped around a bit by eventually decided to order just a standard black poster frame from amazon.com. A few clicks and a payment of $21.95 plus shipping and handling, and I could expect to be hanging the poster up in 7-10 business days.

The rest I am going to tell in timeline format, became often the timing is what makes this situation so frustratingly amusing. We begin on Wednesday….

5:40 PM: I come home to find a UPS Info Notice on the outside door to my apartment building. Hurrah! The frame is almost here! I carry my mail up to my apartment quite excitedly.

6:15 PM: I look at the Info Notice more closely and see that UPS claims that if I sign the notice and leave it back where I found it, they will leave the package for me. I decide that is a lie (or at the very least a bad idea) because my building’s outer door opens directly to the street. I read further to see that I can call a number to arrange for package pickup instead, and recall that my sister has arranged to pick up packages at any UPS store in the past.

6:20 PM: I call number to arrange for package pickup and find myself talking to a computer. I ask to arrange for package pickup anyway. I am shocked when computer-woman understands my request, and suddenly worry that I am actually talking to a human. Computer-woman says there is still time to get my package tonight and asks if I would like to do that. I say yes. She asks for my phone number and an alternate number, says someone from UPS will call me within the hour to arrange for pickup, and tells me I may hang up. I do so, still sort of wondering if that woman just talks like a computer so she doesn’t have to answer hard questions.

6:55 PM: My phone rings. I run for it excitedly but discover it is not UPS, but my friend inviting me to dinner. I do a poor job of covering that I am disappointed that she is not from UPS.

7:30 PM: I realize that more than an hour has passed and wonder why UPS has not called. I call my parents (the alternate number I gave them) to see if UPS has called there looking for me. They have not. So I call the 800 number again. Computer-woman tells me again they will call within the hour. She loses coolness points when she fails to understand “It’s been more than an hour,” “I did not receive a call,” “Let me talk to a human, you crazy computer-woman!”

10:00 PM: I decide they are unlikely to call, and go to bed disappointed that the neighborhood map is not on my wall after computer-woman got my hopes all up.

Thursday….

1:30 PM: I message my sister to ask if she’s ever had UPS not call her back. She says yes, and she had to call the customer service number. I attempt to call the customer service number, then realize I have left the Info Notice and tracking number at home.

6:00 PM: I arrive home and am a bit disturbed that there is not a notice of a second delivery attempt. I go upstairs and call customer service. Eventually I get connected to the same computer-woman, and stay on the line long enough that she asks if I want to talk to an agent. I say yes, and hope she doesn’t mean the FBI. I am put on hold.

6:15 PM: Finally, I get to talk to an agent. I inform him I never got a call. He looks at his computer and says someone tried to call last night and I did not pick up the phone. Before I can respond, he tells me that late pickup is only available on the first day, and now I have to go get my package during business hours, from 8-6, Monday to Friday. I am annoyed, but agree. There is a pause and asks if there’s anything else he can do. Exasperatedly, I tell him I still need to set up my pickup location. He informs me that the package is at 1500 S. Jefferson (many, many miles from both my home and my workplace) and I am not allowed to have it sent anywhere else. I ask if he seriously means I have no other options but to get to no-man’s land during business hours or be home for one of my two remaining delivery attempts. He responds that my additional option is returning the package to sender. I hang up on him.

6:35 PM: I message my sister to tell her UPS says I can’t have package delivered to any UPS store. She says that’s a lie, but they may charge me a fee. I wonder if my “agent” was dumb enough to not offer me options that included a fee and decide to call back.

6:45 PM: I call the 800 number and snap, “AGENT!” at computer-woman. She recognizes either the word or the fact that I am yelling and connects me. I ask the agent if I can have package delivered to a UPS store for a fee. He has to “check on that.” After taking my tracking number, he tells me that because I have “already arranged to have the package held at 1500 S. Jefferson”, they are unable to have the package delivered to anywhere else. Calmly as I can in my rage, I inform him I did not “arrange” anything, as I never got a call. I tell him the note on his computer is a lie, as my cell phone did not register a missed call and they also did not try my alternate number. I tell him that it is impossible for me to get to the holding warehouse or be home to receive the delivery during business hours. He reluctantly suggests having the package delivered to my office instead of my home. I agree, and give him my work address. He tells me that he will forward the information to the Chicago warehouse and they will call me within an hour to confirm the details. If they don’t, please call him back so he can figure out why they are not calling me.

7:10 PM: It suddenly occurs to me that the package contains a 27” by 39” poster frame and it is going to be a pain in the ass to get it home from my office on the bus. My annoyance and frustration renewed, I decide not to wait around for the call, but instead carry my phone with me while I walk to the optometrist to get my new glasses.

7:15 PM: I leave for the optometrist, but keep my phone in my hand the whole time I am walking so I won’t miss the call.

7:45 PM: I arrive at the optometrist and get my glasses! Yay! I am cute!

7:50 PM: I walk home, again with the phone in my hand. I have that weird feeling of the ground being too close because my prescription has gotten stronger.

8:20 PM: I arrive home. I have not gotten a call from UPS, and no missed calls have registered. I sigh and call my old friend the computer-woman and ask for an agent. Apparently the shift has changed, because my old agent is not there. New agent tells me I had no reason to expect a call. She confirms that the address has been changed, but the delivery will not be made until Monday. I hang up the phone and bang my head a few times on my desk in frustration. I am not at all confident that the package is ever going to get to me.

Friday….

7:45 AM: I tell my sad story to my co-worker on the bus. She says she’s sorry, but my new glasses are cute.

12:15 PM: I tell my sad story to more co-workers at the lunch table. They tell me I am welcome to have anything delivered there when I need to. I thank them, but mention that when packages contain things like 27” by 39” poster frames, getting them home on my hour and 15 minute commute on public transportation is not easy. My co-worker Gary offers to give me a ride home Monday. I graciously accept, and am relieved at least that part is taken care of.

3:00 PM: Gary sticks his head in my office to tell me to have a good weekend, then leaves.

3:15 PM: An additional coworker comes to my office to tell me my package has arrived. (You lied to me, 2^nd-shift agent!) I place my face in my hands as I remember Gary has already left and I will need to take the package on the bus.

3:17 PM: I retrieve the package from clerical office, and I am pleased to find that it is not very heavy.

3:20 PM: As I carry the package back to my office, my boss sees me, has pity on me, and tells me to go home early! I pack up quickly and decide to make a run for the 3:30 bus.

3:25 PM: I exit the building to find out there are gale force winds blowing. I have to cross a big field to get to the bus stop, and the large, thin package is acting like a windsail. I fight an epic battle to keep from losing the package or letting it drag me into the road.

3:29 PM: After that great struggle, I arrive at the bus stop one minute early. However, I am informed that the bus is running 10 minutes late. I struggle against the wind for 10 more minutes.

3:40 PM: Finally, I board the bus. I sit in a seat with the package in front of me, and feel guilty because it is impossible for anyone to sit in the seat next to me. I also feel like I am in a box, as I cannot see anything in front of or behind me. I furtively hope that the earlier bus will get me home quicker than usual.

4:05 PM: My hopes are dashed as we arrive downtown and discover a traffic jam due to the blues festival. I sink further into my box-prison and pout.

5:15 PM: FINALLY, I arrive at my stop. I struggle against the wind a bit more as I walk to my apartment. I carry the package up the stairs, get through my door, and do a little victory dance.

5:20 PM: I start ripping open the package, frantic with excitement. I pull the frame out to discover that the packaging has “27 inches by 41 inches” printed on it, but there is a sticker over the 41 with “39” written on it in permanent marker. Suddenly I worry if I got ripped off and the poster will not fit, but I lay poster over the top. It seems like it will fit.

5:25 PM: I get the rest of the packaging off and start to take apart the frame. I yell swear words as I discover that the plastic is cracked in two places, leaving one hole, and two of the frame’s corners are noticeably bent. I literally have to fight back tears as I laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation.

5:50 PM: I find out how to contact the company through amazon.com’s website. I send a scathing email asking for a refund.

7:30 PM: I receive a response from the company. They say they are very sorry and will refund my money when they receive the broken frame back. They tell me to return the frame to its original packaging, and….

“…UPS will contact you to arrange a pickup.”

That’s where the story ends for now. Needless to say, UPS has not contacted me. That would break Murphy’s Law.

So. Anyone know where I can buy a 27” by 39” poster frame?

I'm a part of that...

Hello and welcome to blog #2 from a local Chicago coffee shop. Today I’m at Noble Tree Coffee and Tea on Clark, a bit north of Fullerton. So far I’m not entirely impressed with the atmosphere, but they have Savor the Flavor beat on the menu. I’m just finishing a fabulous roast beef sandwich and iced chai latte. A bit expensive, but worth it once and a while for how good it was. Apparently this shop has several floors as well, so maybe I would like the atmosphere a bit better upstairs where there would not be a group of four pretentious people having a ridiculous conversation about interior design right next to me. Jury’s still out on this one.

In other news, happy anniversary to me! Today marks three years since I moved to Chicago. To mark this momentous (read: completely insignificant to everyone but me) occasion, I’m going to write on a topic that was suggested to me by my mother many months ago, while I was still in graduate school. During that year, I lived in Evanston, the first northern suburb, because that is where Northwestern’s main campus is located. And although Evanston is a very pleasant place to live, I spent the whole year saying that I could not wait to move back into the city. About the 98^th time my mother had to endure the complaint, she suggested that I write a blog about why I was so desperate to move back.

I never wrote that blog, not only because it was another eight months before I actually started writing again instead of just talking about it, but because I was not sure I could articulate my reasons for being so bothered by being outside the city’s borders. I am still not sure I can, but I think I’ve gained enough understanding of myself and the city over the last six months to give it a shot.

You see, for me, the city of Chicago is not just a location. It’s a way of life. So many aspects of my life changed the day I moved here. I wrote about one of the big ones last week: I now walk or take the train almost everywhere I go. This alone changed the way I think about how to best organize my day and about what I have to carry with me. For instance, stopping at a store on the way home requires not only knowing where the store is, like it would if I drove, but knowing what train stop is closest to it and whether the best way to get home is to get back on the same train I got off or take another. Generally speaking, coming home first before going somewhere after work doesn’t make a lot of sense, as so many things lie somewhere between my office at 6000 south in Hyde Park and my apartment at 2800 north in Lincoln Park. So, if I need anything for after-work activities, it has to come with me to work. On the flip side of that, I also have to think harder about what I really need to have with me. It’s not a good idea to carry extraneous stuff, because I do actually have to carry it with me wherever I go. There’s no leaving it in my car. If I am going anywhere but work on a work day, there generally has to be a plan mapped out in my head the day before.

Living here has also fundamentally changed my sense of time. For example, my sister lives about 4 miles north of me. On a good day, it takes me about a half-hour to get to her apartment from mine. The strange thing about that is, I think she lives quite close. While I was in high school, the people that lived a half-hour away lived on the opposite end of town from me. Indeed, the 15-minute drive from my high school to my house just outside of town in Zilwaukee was considered a really long trip. (No one ever wanted to come and get me or take me home. It was very sad. My parents allowed me to use some savings to buy a car when I turned 16, simply because they were so tired of having to take my places when my friends refused to pick me up.) Pre-Chicago, a half-hour trip was a burden. Now, it’s a pleasant little jaunt. My sense of time is so altered now that I have a really hard time judging how long things will take when I am not in the city. When I was at my parents’ house in August, one day my mother asked me to run three or four errands and do some cooking for a party we were throwing the next day. I told her I would try, but wasn’t sure I would get it all done. As it would turn out, I was done with all the errands and back home by 10am. The fact that I had a car and could drive point to point, and that the locations of all three errands were in about a one-mile radius, apparently did not factor into my calculations.

Anyway, my point is not to bore you with all the ways that big-city life differs from small-town or even suburban life. I am simply pointing out that there ARE huge and fundamental differences between how I live my life now and how I lived my life in Evanston. So, why do I like city life so much better? The couple of things I described above make it seem like a burden. You have to do more planning ahead, and everything takes longer.

The fact is, being an efficient city-dweller develops over time just like any other skill. Everyday existence is practice, and practice makes perfect. The longer you live here, the more you learn about the best ways to get around, the tools that help you carry more with you than you ever thought you were capable of, and closest stores that have anything you need. City-dwellers know secrets about the city that no one else knows. Not really because we jealously guard the secrets, but because they are things you won’t ever need or want to know unless you live here.

This phenomenon fascinates me, because it makes the city seem like a living, self-sustaining being. Only people that live here know what the difficulties and annoyances are, and so they start businesses in an attempt to alleviate those burdens. Then, simply by going about their everyday lives, which necessarily involve some walking and exploring, residents uncover these new secrets and support them. The city lifestyle helps to keep the city running. I really believe that only by living here awhile and letting the city change the way you think and exist can you understand its needs and contribute to them. Hopefully, that makes some sort of sense to you.

But again returning to my original question: how does all this relate to me being so desperate to move back into the city? Simply put, living in the city makes me feel connected to the rest of the people that live here. I see this city as one, connected, living entity, and I love the feeling of being part of the reason it remains alive. Simply by living here, I have a certain mutual understanding with all the people I pass on the streets and bump elbows with on the train. We all know the same secrets that people that non-city-dwellers simply don’t. We all have something in common and all know something about each other.

And that makes me feel less alone. Even though I live by myself, and do a lot of things on my own, and have had to learn to be self-sufficient in ways I never could have imagined, I feel less lonely living here than I would if all those things were still true and I lived somewhere else.

The funny thing about these blogs is that occasionally the act of writing them helps me understand things that I never have before. This is one of those times. Suddenly I realize that one of the huge reasons I would so unhappy in graduate school was that I was horrendously lonely. That’s why I was so desperate to move back into the city. Although I really loved my classmates, I simply did not think about the subject matter or the world of academia or life in general the way they did, and I felt very our of place and disconnected from the world. I wanted to move back to the city where I understood how people thought and lived.

I’m not sure I have made all of this as clear for you as I have made it for myself, so I am going to digress for a moment in an effort to explain this another way.

Are any of you familiar with the PostSecret project? There is a link to it on the right side of this page, under my profile. Basically, the founder of the project invites anyone who wishes to send in an anonymous postcard with a secret written on it. He then chooses the best ones out of the mountains of cards he receives and posts a couple dozen on a blog each week.

The project has an enormous following and has been going on for several years now. Tons of people have written to the founder, saying how moved they are, and how the share the same secrets, and how the project has changed their lives. I am a faithful reader of the posts, but I confess that I don’t connect with the project in the manner that the writers of those letters do. I find the secrets quite interesting and the art is sometimes breath-taking, but I don’t tend to share the secrets. In fact, for a long time, I felt like I didn’t even have a secret. Even if I wanted to send in a post card, I wouldn’t know what to say.

Yet, I kept reading each week. I think maybe I was hoping that one day I would have to moving, emotional experience that everyone kept talking about.

Then one day, I was scrolling down the page and stopped on a postcard that had a picture of hands reaching into the center of a circle. The text said, “I just want to be a part of something. Anything.”

I confess that I did not have an emotional breakdown or feel my life had been changed. But I did feel like I was looking at my own secret. It was not an emotional moment for me because it was something I had always known about myself, but I had never articulated it quite so well. The deepest, most desperate desire of my heart is to be part of something that matters. To be vital to someone and something. To matter.

In some small but fundamental way, living in the city makes me feel like I am a part of something. I think that’s the best way I can explain it.

I still think I may have been ineffective in communicating my feeling about this, but I have come to understand it better by writing this. So, thank you for reading.

As always, feel free to post comments or email me if there’s anything else you’d like me to write about. Next time, I will try my hand at something funnier. But on this, my third anniversary in Chicago, somehow this topic felt appropriate.

Have a fantastic day, and get out and enjoy the summertime weather! And I say this to all of you with the utmost sincerity: I wish you all the happiness and peace of mind that living in this city gives me.

Happy Memorial Day! Here I am, sitting at a local coffee shop, enjoying the breeze from the open windows and blogging. I’m hoping that this will become a bit of a ritual – trying new coffee shops and writing. Sometimes I feel like I avoid writing because it involves sitting in my apartment, by myself, for a couple of hours when I could be out doing something. But if I go to coffee shops to write, I’ll not only write more often, I’ll also get to try a bunch of new places. Which I love to do. Right now I’m at Savor the Flavor on the corner of Lincoln, Sheffield, and Wrightwood. So far I really recommend it. Good food and coffee at decent prices, and a really nice atmosphere. But anyway -- here’s hopefully the first blog of many from local coffee shops in Chicago.

I think perhaps it is finally, FINALLY summer here. This is tremendously exciting for a lot of reasons. It means there will be all sorts of street festivals going on each weekend. It means free symphony concerts and movies in the park. It means I can wear skirts and flip flops and not freeze, and leave my apartment without a 10-pound winter coat. But most importantly, summer is the beginning of walking season.

Anyone who has spent much downtime with me, particularly in the summer, knows that I am a little fanatical about walking. Even though I am a huge supporter of public transportation and know the bus and train system here like the back of my hand, I will almost always choose to walk when time and weather permits. And I don’t just mean short distances. Whereas most people’s definition of “walking distance” is somewhere around a mile, mine is pretty much anything under six or seven miles. For instance, on Saturday, I walked from my apartment in Lincoln Park to the Randolph Street Market in the West Loop – a distance of roughly five and a quarter miles, at least by the route I took.

I not only prefer walking to driving or taking the train or bus, I’m kind of stubborn about it. I’ve been known to spend 20 minutes talking friends into walking instead of busing or cabbing it, and even walking alone and meeting people at our destination when they won’t be convinced.

So what is my deal with walking? Why do I love it so much? There are, as far as I can gather at the moment, nine reasons. (It’s kind of annoying to me that I can’t think of a tenth, as ten is a nice round number for a list. But nine is a square number, and the first odd number other than 1 that is not prime, so I suppose it will do. Ok, moment of math nerdiness over.)

There are a few that you could probably guess, but they are pretty far down the list and I think my top two reasons might surprise you and maybe even give you some food for thought. So here they are, in reverse order of importance to me.

Top Nine Reasons Katie is a Walkin’ Fool

9. It reduces my carbon footprint.

To a small extent, walking helps me feel like I am doing my part to save the world from global warming. I realize that this seems a bit silly. When I don’t walk, I take public transportation, which will run regardless of whether I am on it or not. So really, my walking does not make much of an impact on carbon emissions. But some idealistic part of me feels that I am leading by example when I walk. Perhaps if enough people got out of their cars or off the bus to walk, it could really make a difference. Scoff if you will, but walking makes me feel like I am contributing to a healthier planet. (I love you Al Gore – sorry I was too young to be able to vote for you in 2000!)

8. It burns calories.

I’m guessing that many of you thought that this was the reason that I walk: to be healthier. Don’t get me wrong – this does factor into my decisions. It’s a lot easier to motivate yourself to exercise when you can fit it into your everyday routine, and walking to and from everyday destinations is an easy way to do that. And walking home after I eat a big meal or go out for ice cream does many me feel a little better both physically and psychologically. But the exercise aspect of walking is quite low on a long list of reasons for walking. I have my love/hate relationship with running for that purpose. But that’s a topic for another blog.

7. It changes my perspective about frustrating aspects of public transportation.

Even though I own a car, I rarely use it. I take public transportation to work everyday. And let me tell you, it’s not always a picnic. On days when two trains go by that are so crowded that I can’t even board, or a group of rowdy teenagers are making life miserable for everyone in the train car, or I am repeatedly harassed for money by solicitors, or the bus simply does not come, I want to poke my eyes out by the time I get to work or get home. But in the summertime, because I walk so much, I am on the train and bus much less often. As a result, when I do climb aboard, I find that I am struck by our public transportation system’s efficiency and utility. Yesterday, after a long stroll along our beautiful lakefront, I was suddenly longing to stretch out next to an open window and play with my kitty. I got on the train and I was home in 15 minutes. The train felt positively like a treat, and I’m sure I would not have felt that way about it if I had spent a big chunk of my weekend battling crowds of drunken Cubs fans for a seat or standing on platforms, vainly staring off into the distance hoping to see the train coming.

6. It’s a safety issue.

It’s not that I feel unsafe very often in Chicago. Indeed, I think that as long as you remain alert and aware of your surrounds – i.e. as long as you don’t do anything stupid – most areas of Chicago are quite safe. However, when it is after dark, there are substantially fewer people on the street, and the buses and trains run substantially less often. In these situations, standing still by myself on a train platform or at a bus stop makes me feel vulnerable. When I’m walking, I feel safer and more in control of the situation. Plus, I walk so fast, most attackers would not bother trying to keep up with me!

5. It saves time, or at least makes more efficient use of it.

This seems counter-intuitive or even false to some people. How could walking be faster than driving or taking the train? For longer trips, such as the five-mile trek to the Randolph Street Market on Saturday, this argument doesn’t hold. I realize that. But for many other trips that are only a mile or so, walking can often take the same amount of time or less. If I take public transportation, I inevitably will spend some time waiting for the train or bus to show up. Often, the time I spend waiting plus the time of the ride itself will add up to longer than it would take me to walk. And in those situations, it makes absolutely no sense to me to wait for a bus or train. While I advocate public transportation and think this city does an excellent job of keeping it running efficiently during rush periods, during off-peak hours it can be a crap shoot. You could wait 30 seconds for a train, or you could wait 20 minutes. Most of the time I am not in a big hurry, and this variability is not a big problem. But when I am meeting someone at a specific time, or going to a meeting, it can be a nuisance. I can leave at exactly the same time and on one day be uber early and on the next be late. Which I hate. Oh how I HATE being late! (Wow, that sort of sounded like Dr. Seuss, only angry). When I walk, I know how long it’s going to take me to get there. As I am a bit of a control freak, I find this one of the biggest benefits of walking.

4. It’s time to myself.

When I was in graduate school, I spoke often of a phenomenon I called my “perpetual fear.” My classmates were fascinated with the fact that even though we had 10-week quarters, I was usually done in 8. When asked why I always pushed myself so hard to finish early, I told them the answer was simple: I live in perpetual fear that I am going to run out of time. What if something happens, and I have some unavoidable commitment the night before a paper is due? What if my cat gets hurt and I have to take her to the vet? What if my car gets impounded and I have to fetch it before I owe hundreds of dollars in storage fees? You never know. My mind is a bottomless pit of worst-case scenarios, and so I always feel like I have to spend every feasible minute working on anything that has a deadline, just in case I am unable to finish later. This perpetual fear is worse when I am in school, but it still exists when I am not. Right now, it’s more like perpetual guilt. (Thank you, Catholic upbringing.) Even if I have nothing with a deadline, I still feel like I should be spending my time doing something productive or useful for humanity in case I am unable to later. It’s one of the more tiresome and unhealthy aspects of my personality.

So, what does that have to do with walking? Walking makes me feel like I am doing something productive for all the reasons above and below. But, because I am blessed with the ability to walk and talk, or walk and think, at the same time, it also serves as time I have to myself, guilt-free. (I confess I can’t walk and chew gum, though. I have TMJ.) While I’m walking, there isn’t anything better I should be doing other than reflecting on my day, people-watching, or talking to my friends or family on the phone. Indeed, almost all the conversations I have with my mother and my out-of-state friends occur when I’m walking. I love to walk because it slows down my angst-ridden brain and allows me to relax.

3. It’s freeing.

One of the things I like most about walking is its simplicity. I don’t need any equipment or gadgets or anything to do it, other than perhaps a pair of decent shoes. I don’t have to carry keys, or a transit card, or anything else in order to get somewhere. And even more importantly, I never have to return to a specific location to retrieve something I’ve left there, like a parking space or bike rack. Nor do I have to stay in decent proximity to a certain train or bus line. Walking is, without question, the most unencumbered way of getting around. It involves no frills and no excuses. And I love that, particularly because I often make spontaneous decisions about where to go when I am out and about. Nothing is out of my way, because there are no anchor points to measure from. Changing my destination has no inconvenient consequences. And not having to plan where I am going and when in minute detail really helps motivate me to leave the house. I just get up, get out, and start walking.

2. It’s a process of discovery.

Although all of the above reasons factor into my walking fanaticism, these top two reasons are by far the most important ones. First, I am always amazed at how much more I see when I am walking rather than riding a train or bus or driving. I love living in Chicago, and one of the biggest reasons for that is how easy the city is to explore, and how much there is to discover. I can walk along the same street over and over again and see something new every time. For instance, I walked all the way down Clark Street, from Diversey to Randolph, on my way to the market on Saturday. Along the way, I discovered a crepe restaurant I’m excited to try, two additional recycled clothing stores I was not aware of, and two new coffee shops I want to try. (My next blog will likely be written while sitting at one of them!) There are thousands of spots and treasures to discover in this great city, and I know I would miss so many of them if I did not walk so much. I’ve lived here for almost three years now, and fall more in love with this city every day as I discover more things about it. There’s so much more to Chicago than Navy Pier and the Sears Tower. I’m convinced that traveling on foot is the only way to really experience this city.

1. Because I can.

Many of the above reasons for walking have been Chicago-specific. And indeed, I probably wouldn’t be so passionate about walking if I didn’t live in such a walk-able city. But my number one reason for walking really has nothing to do with being in Chicago. Simply put, I walk because I can. I walk because I am physically capable of doing so. I feel like, in this society of convenience, we have lost touch with what the human body is capable of. Sure, there are competitions such as the Iron Man race, or American Gladiators, that encourage people to push themselves to the limits of human capacity. But those shows involve doing things the human body was not really designed to do. You have to be bordering on insane to take part in them. (Not that semi-insane people aren’t fun to watch. Did anyone see the episode of American Gladiators where the Evanator chased the Chicago cop up the wall, passed him, then asked if the cop wanted to arrest him for speeding? That was awesome.)

On the other hand, the human body was designed (or evolved, or whatever) with the capability to walk. And walking is easier than most people would imagine or admit. Sure, it takes time to get places on foot, but most people could walk five miles without being sore or even particularly tired. Yet the idea of walking five miles is silly or not even considered by most people. I think this is a travesty. Because walking can take you places that no other form of transportation can.

While I was studying abroad in Scandinavia, I took a solo trip to the Swedish city of Lund, and there was one moment I remember quite clearly about that trip. I had a few hours until I needed to catch my train, and I stood on the edge of the city looking down the coast. In the distance, I could see a pier. I took a photo, and then thought to myself that I’d like to see the view from that pier. After a beat, I had this moment of realization that there was absolutely nothing stopping me from seeing that view. And so I walked the few miles out to the pier and stood there taking in the view. I’m not sure I can really explain it, but there was something so satisfying about that moment. I stood there, looking back at where I had just been, and marveled at all the places my own two feet had taken me over the last five months of traveling. They had taken me up the steps of St. Peter’s dome, through Red Square, over dozens of beautiful bridges of Stockholm, and more. No car, bus, train, or even bicycle could have gotten me all those places. But, I didn’t need any of those things. All I needed was my own two feet. I was capable of getting so many places without any assistance from person or machine. I was endowed with a sense of power that day, and I’ve been passionate about the power of walking ever since.

So, those are the reasons I walk. There are reasons related to health, the environment, and utility, but mostly, I find that walking takes me places, both figuratively and literally, that I couldn’t go otherwise. I really encourage you to get out there and walk. You’ll discover more about yourself and your surrounds you would ever imagine.

And be patient with me the next time I force you to walk somewhere. I have my reasons, and they are nine-fold.

At long last, my blog is back.

For months, I’ve been saying I was going to start writing again. First, I said as soon as I got a job. Then it was at the first of the year. Then by my birthday. Then I ran out of deadlines, but I still didn’t write.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s been stopping me. After all, I really like to write, and I’ve been told by many people that I’m good at it. By the end of my time in Sweden, I had a big following on my journal. I’ve even been told several times that I should pursue writing as a career.

Truth be told, I’m not sure I’ll ever be a professional writer, but I do really enjoy writing. It helps me communicate a lot of things I couldn’t otherwise, because I’ve never been much of a phone talker or conversationalist in general. I have things to say, but I need time to think them through and organize them before I can say them. Writing allows me to do that.

So, why have I been unable to cajole myself into writing for months and months? Because writing is hard. Writing challenges me and keeps me thinking. Finding interesting things to write about forces me to observe the world around me and see humor, opportunity, and kindness where otherwise I would see nothing. Writing makes me pay attention. That’s what makes it such a satisfying pastime, but also what makes it a difficult one.

The reason I haven’t been writing is because I’ve struggled for a long time coming up with a topic that I thought was worthwhile. But thinking back on the reasons I started writing in my Sweden journal, I was reminded that the point of writing is to realize how many of the experiences I have every day are worthwhile. I’ve been trying too hard to think of something earth-shattering to say, when my best writings have always been about the smaller things.

So, to get myself started again, I’ve decided to write about the most mundane thing I did today: I went to Walgreens. It doesn’t sound like there’s much of a story there, does there? But, in every ordinary errand, there is something worth telling. Here goes.

I walked in knowing I needed two things: a new shower cap, and cat litter. I walked into the health and beauty section, and suddenly realized I had no idea where to look for a shower cap. So, I started wandering up and down the aisles, looking for anything in little hanging packages, as opposed to the shelves and shelves of bottles that fill the health and beauty section. There is a large wall at the back of the store filled with such hanging packages, so I headed there. Whoops, turns out this wall is actually full of nylons and cheap underwear. I scan the wall, just in case, and notice a package that says “Bag o’Briefs.” After a beat, this strikes me as hysterically funny.

So, I’m feeling the urge to laugh out loud, which is horrendously inappropriate for several reasons: 1) It’s fourth grade humor to think that’s funny in the first place, 2) There was another customer standing there seriously considering purchasing the Bag o’Briefs, and 3) I was alone, and no one wants to be the crazy lady laughing by herself in a Walgreens.

In an effort not to actually laugh, I did an about face to look at the hanging packages behind me. It’s at this point that I saw a package of bibs that is not advertised, as one would expect, as Bag o’Bibs, but instead as Bag O’Babies. Naturally, I picture three small children being purchased in a three-for-one sale at Walgreens, and I can’t hold it in any more. I walked away, hoping no one would notice there was a crazy lady laughing by herself in Walgreens and call the police.

You’ll be relieved to hear that I did eventually find the shower caps. After a lengthy internal debate, I chose to go with the $2.99 flowered one instead of the boring, ugly $0.99 version. (Thanks, GWB stimulus check!) Then I picked up some cat litter, was pathetically taken in by the three-for-a-dollar jelly bean sale, paid for my purchases, and walked out.

So, there it is. My triumphant return features a ridiculous story about a drug store visit. Not exactly my finest hour, but I’m going to post this anyway, because I really need to get myself rolling again. I post this, and finally, for real, the blog is back. And I hope it stays back.

For all the reasons I talked about earlier, I think the biggest struggle will be to come up with interesting topics to talk about. That’s where I need your help. Post comments and let me know what you’d like me to write about. Do you want to hear about city life? About commuting on the train and bus? About the various unhealthy ways I handle huge crowds during rush hour? How about graduate school? Want to know my opinions on the twisted world of academia? The politics of sharing an office with PhD students while I was a MA student? Or is there some decision I’ve made that you never understood? Want to know why I played crash cymbals in college, or why I chose to go to Sweden, or why I wore a watch to bed for over ten years? (Actually, many of you probably didn’t know I did that.) You may ask me anything – about my own life or about my opinions about anything else. I reserve the right not to answer, but promise to have good reasons for refusing.

So, post some ideas. If you don’t, I’ll continue writing about shower caps. And friends don’t let friends write about shower caps twice.