My anniversary with Chicago

Today marks the one year anniversary of me living in Chicago. I spent three days driving from San Francisco to Chicago with my friend Jenny and my dog Audrey. The scene at my apartment was as clichéd as anything you’d see in a movie. My ex-boyfriend and I stood in the bedroom that was no longer ours, crying and petting a dog we would no longer share. If we said anything, I don’t remember what it was. I shut the door on my favorite apartment, and in many ways a very good year, and walked my dog down the two flights of stairs to the rented minivan.

The first night we slept at Jenny’s parents’ house in Utah. It was the first night in nearly four years that I slept “alone.” Sure, I had spent nights by myself, but not by myself as a single person. I couldn’t sleep because I was so nervous and excited about my new life in Chicago. Moving didn’t seem real to me yet – I felt like I was just going on a vacation and that I’d be back in San Francisco and with Jake in a week.

The next night I stayed at my mom’s house, where our dogs played together and I ate very Midwestern foods. My mom seemed disappointed and hopeful for me at the same time. I understood her feelings. In many ways I felt like a total failure. I couldn’t keep a relationship working; I couldn’t afford to live in San Francisco alone; I couldn’t find a full time MLS-required job in the Bay Area, and for me, the most humbling fact was that I couldn’t deny that I needed a support system any longer. I needed to move to the one place I always disdained (due to family history and my irrational stubbornness about the Midwest and about making ‘easy’ choices) and be near friends that I knew would always be there for me.

When I got to my new apartment in Chicago I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t like the place at all. It didn’t look like the places in San Francisco, the neighborhood seemed boring, the building looked dingy, and there were gnats in my apartment. I wasn’t happy. Looking at an archive of my blog, I wrote

“Sunday night I totally freaked out when I got to my place. I was exhausted from driving over 30 hours to get here, and the magnitude of what I did (moved across the country to live alone) finally hit me. I had a few minutes of regrets/what the hell have I done thoughts, and fell apart. It didn't help that I had no furniture, and there are weird gnats all over my apartment, or that the girl who moved out totally didn't clean the place and I hate dirt unless its my own mess. Plus Audrey was very upset/stressed so I felt awful for her and what I had done to her.”

What I didn’t mention there was that I actually sat on the empty kitchen floor and sobbed uncontrollably the entire evening. I was also too afraid to sleep, so I stopped sleeping at night. Even after I got my bed, I couldn’t sleep in it. I didn’t like that it was “my bed” instead of “our bed.” It seemed like the most obvious sign that I was single again. Instead, I slept on the couch for a few months.

Despite a rough first few weeks, the summer was amazing. My friends came through like I never could have realized. They invited me to baseball games, bbqs, movies, shows, parties. They introduced me to the friends they had made here since moving from Madison. They called me to make sure I was doing ok. I don’t think I could say enough about how amazing my circle of friends is and how they mean the world to me. I spent the summer getting out, getting drunk, doing stupid stuff, doing smart stuff, getting a fancy job, and learning what it meant to be independent.

Then August hit. I was so busy in the summer with a new job and new friends that I didn’t have time to wallow in my loss of my relationship. From April until August I spent the majority of the time being very excited for my new life. It was only when I was alone at night that I had problems. Those problems started spreading into my days. I couldn’t concentrate at work, I didn’t want to see people, I cried all the time, I missed Jake like crazy, I missed San Francisco even more…it was awful. Lucky(?) for me I’ve dealt with anxiety and depression my entire life so I knew what was going on. I’m fortunate enough to have health insurance, and I got back on anti-anxiety/depression medications. It took another month or two, but I got better. I also forced myself to think about the end of my relationship. I engaged in a lot of self-imposed solitary confinement during the early fall in an effort to fix myself.

When I visited San Francisco in November, I was really afraid of what I would find. Would I realize I had made a huge mistake in moving to Chicago? Would I miss Jake and regret leaving him? Thankfully, as soon as I got there I knew what I had done was correct. I believe that if I had not taken that trip I would still carry those nagging questions with me today. I think that the trip to SF was the proof I needed that I could rest easy in my decision to move to Chicago. Upon my return to Chicago, I was so happy to see my friends again and so happy to be alone again.

I stayed in Chicago alone over Christmas, willingly. It was a good experience for me, to be so alone during a time where friends and families get together. And when all my friends returned from their trips to see family, I got another great surprise. Turned out my thoughts about someone weren’t unfounded. I had unexpectedly found someone I liked that liked me back who wasn’t a user, psycho, manipulator, or skeeze. I’ve spent the past four months working at being in a healthy relationship, one where I’m not a doormat and where feelings are actually expressed in a healthy open manner. It’s pretty amazing to be in a truly adult relationship. I thought I had that with Jake, but it took me getting into this to realize just how broken my last relationship was. I am so thankful to have someone as amazing as Nate as a daily part of my life. We have the same interests, same friends, he likes to play with Audrey, he is amazingly considerate and thoughtful…the list doesn’t stop. I couldn’t be happier.

I also couldn’t be happier with life in general. I love my job, I continue to be amazed at how great my friends are, I am starting to at least feel comfortable in my apartment that I’ll be in for another year, I’m getting a grip on my debt, I’ve found places I like to go in Chicago. And yet, there is still so much more to do here. I don’t feel like I’ve run my course the way I did when I left San Francisco. There are neighborhoods I haven’t seen yet, people I haven’t met, restaurants I haven’t tried, music venues I haven’t been to, weekend trips I haven’t taken... I haven’t even been to most of the museums here. I’ve never biked down Lake Shore Drive. I have only had Vietnamese food here once. I haven’t gone dancing at a gay/lesbian club. I haven’t had a four or five star meal. I haven’t been to a farmer’s market. I haven’t volunteered for a women’s services non-profit. I haven’t even gotten an IL driver’s license yet (will change on my birthday in two weeks). I should make a goal to do all of the above in my second year here.

I may still miss San Francisco more than anyone could fully comprehend, and miss my amazing apartment, my great job there, my great (if few) friends, my comfortable lifestyle, and even my ex-boyfriend, but I will never regret leaving. Thank you Chicago, for making my first year here a fantastic one.