Last week, I was lucky enough to spend five days in sunny southern California, visiting one of my best friends from undergrad. It was a great trip. I had never been to the west coast, and I was able to see the Santa Monica Pier, the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and the beautiful mountains of Malibu. Even better, I was able to walk around without a coat, go running in a tank top along the beach, and even (gasp!) wear sunglasses! I had been looking forward to getting away for months, and the trip didn’t disappoint. Time to relax, time in the sun, and time spent with old friends were three things I had really needed.
But the trip also affected me in a way that I didn’t expect. During my last full day there, an additional friend from college drove up from San Diego and the three of us – me, the friend I was staying with (Vanessa), and the friend who drove in (Stephen) – went out to lunch, on a long walk, and out to dinner, accompanied by Stephen’s girlfriend.
I had not seen Stephen in almost two years, and I had not seen Vanessa in almost three. But that day, it was like it had only been a few days. Although we spent a lot of time telling each other about our jobs, families, pets, and roommates, we also spent a lot of time reminiscing. We brought up jokes and stories that were six or seven years old. We laughed, we teased, and we feigned offense, just like we did when we all lived in the same 6-unit apartment building nearly four years ago. It was easy, effortless, and comfortable, and I enjoyed myself immensely. I did feel a little bit guilty that Stephen’s girlfriend could not join in the reminiscing, but Vanessa and I tried make up for that by telling as many embarrassing stories about Stephen as we could remember. (Believe me, we know a lot of them!)
It really was blissful. In fact, it wasn’t until several hours into the visit that I had any sad or painful emotions at all. But then, both Stephen and Vanessa made comments that caught me completely off guard. Without prelude, Vanessa said something along the lines of, “Katie, I think you should just move here.” I flinched, not sure how to respond. I said, “If only it were that simple.” I hoped that would be the end of it, but then Stephen jumped in. “Come on, Katie. What does Chicago really do better than SoCal?” They looked at me expectantly, and the next thing that came out of my mouth surprised me. “It’s not that I don’t miss you. But honestly, I don’t know if I could be happy here permanently.” They asked why, and I stuttered through a rather incoherent response about crazy people wearing boots in 60-degree weather (or something equally lame). Then I changed the subject.
For the next couple of hours, up until the point that Stephen left, a range of emotions coursed through me. First and foremost, there was gratitude and love for my two old friends. As uncomfortable as that moment was, it showed me that they wanted me nearby. Even though years had passed between visits, there was no awkwardness between us, and they sensed how great it would be to be together again. It wasn’t until then that it even occurred to me that things could have been awkward. Sometimes, people change in ways you don’t expect, and friendships that once were rock solid suddenly have no foundation. But there was none of that. And it didn’t occur to me to be thankful for that until after they asked me to move.
But the happiness was bittersweet because deep down, I knew I’d never be moving to California. It wasn’t for the reasons I expected, though. There are the obvious reasons, of course. My life is established here. I have a job that I love and an ever-widening circle of friends. I have volunteer responsibilities that would be hard to walk away from, and my monthly budget definitely does not have a surplus that would handle a long-distance move. Not to mention the fact that now is the worst time in my lifetime to give up a job to look for another.
But it was not any of those things that provided the definitive answer. I did think about all of them, and I knew they’d all present difficulties. However, I also knew that there were ways around all of them. If I had good enough reasons, I could break all those barriers and move to Santa Monica or San Diego. And all the thoughts of comfort, love, and gratitude I was feeling toward Stephen and Vanessa were good enough reasons. I had the same sense they did – that somehow, life would just be better if they were closer to me.
Despite that, though, I struggled with another truth: the truth that had come out of my mouth before I even realized it. I would not be happy living here permanently. Don’t get me wrong. I loved Santa Monica. I hate winter, and there, I could almost escape it completely. I love the sun, and there I could have it year-round. And I love experiencing new things, so I was not afraid of adjusting to a new environment. But even in the few days I spent there, I knew it was not where I belonged.
Chicago is where I belong. I become more and more certain of that every day. The more I learn about myself in these formative years as a twentysomething, the more I am amazed at how well this city suits me.
I don’t like driving. I never really did. It’s stressed me out since the first day of driver’s training. Here, I don’t have to drive unless I’m leaving the city. I can walk to at least half the places I need to go regularly, and take public transportation to the rest. There, I would have to drive almost anywhere I went.
I do well living by myself. There are benefits to having roommates, but mostly, I find that living alone relieves some of the social pressure from my angst-ridden mind. It’s not that I hide out in here. In fact, sometimes I think that I am gone so often that it’s unfair to my cat. But when I lived with roommates, I always worried what they would think about what time I went to bed, how long I took in the shower, what I watched on TV, and what I ate for dinner. I shouldn’t care what they think, but the truth is that I do. It’s a part of my social anxiety that I’ve accepted and had to learn to control. And living alone really helps with that. Here, I can afford to do so, even if it means settling for 350 square feet in a poorly maintained building. There, I wouldn’t be able to afford it. After the discussions I had with Vanessa about housing costs, I’m certain there would be no chance.
I love exploring and discovering new things. This city is made for that. There are restaurants above apartments, apartments above retail stores, and tiny shops that can only be entered from an alley. The sea of skyscrapers here hides a thousand secrets waiting to be discovered, and I always know that I can fill an empty day with a walk of discovery. In Santa Monica, the buildings are lower and the city seems more zoned than Chicago. Residences here, commercial spaces there. Life there just wouldn’t seem like the never-ending game it seems like here.
These are only three of a lot of reasons I don’t think I would be happy in Santa Monica. While I know that they are colored by some biases, I know there is truth at the heart of them. A piece of me wants to move to the west coast, if for no other reason, to be around Vanessa more. And I think she knows that – if only by the tears that welled up in my eyes as I tried to explain this to her as we stood in the checkout line waiting to buy the chocolate cake and ice cream we planned to eat to say farewell to my time in Cali. As I’ve thought about this more over the last week, I also realize I’ve felt this way every time I go back to Michigan to visit my parents. A piece of me desperately wants to be closer to them, and I can’t describe how much I miss my mom and dad on a day-to-day basis. But I don’t belong in Bay City. And I think they know that, too.
So I guess my purpose in writing this was to tell Vanessa and Stephen, and my parents, that I do love them, and there are days when I do want to move closer to them. But please be content in knowing that I am certain that I am where I am supposed to be, and I am happy. I’d love for you to move here, too. But only if you’re sure it’s where you belong.
No matter where you are, I’ll still be here, still be me, and still be there when you need me.
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