Yes, I took this picture. Thank you, I like it too.

It’s difficult to look back on things without some distance. In some ways, it’s hard to believe I’ve been in Nashville for two years. (I mean, one of those years has been weird.) In other ways, Chicago seems so distant and so long ago. I feel like I’m in a good place now to do a lookback at Chicago and all it gave me and what I learned.

I’ve made a few big moves in my life, even out of the country, but the move from Chicago to Nashville was a huge move for me in many ways. I had lived in Chicago for nearly as long as I had lived in Louisiana and my Chicago years were all adult growth and change years.

Things Chicago gave me, in no particular order, here we go:

Acting.

I had my first taste of acting when I was twelve. It was a children’s theatre production that I wanted to do because my sister was doing it. I had always been a shy kid. I drew pictures and read books and wrote my own stories. I was not interested in crowds, I didn’t have a ton of friends. Theatre was different. Onstage, I wasn’t a weird, awkward kid, I was someone completely different. The audience didn’t bother me, the lights made it so I could barely see them and eventually, I even began to feed off of their energy. Telling stories that way became my new passion.

That’s me on the bottom left. Charles took this photo from the balcony in the audience.

I threw my stuff into a trailer immediately after getting my second Bachelors and headed up to Chicago to give the dream a try. I don’t regret it. I learned how to throw my heart out onstage in front of a group of people who could ride with me or tear it apart. I learned to trust the artists I lived the show with for however many weeks, to continually trust fall into each other on stage, and sometimes off, and then say au revior. I learned how to create something moment by moment that would never exist outside of that very small space of time, save in the hearts and minds of those who were there. Films of most staged plays are in most scenarios horrible, and if tons of money has been put into them and several shots of several shows taken and only the best used, simply fall short of the live experience. Live theatre is the ultimate ‘you had to be there.’

I worked with some amazing artists in Chicago and got to do some powerful theatre, some silly theatre, some very organized theatre and some experimental theatre, a little bad theatre and a lot of good theatre. I even had my time in movies and commercials. I had an agent. I did the whole thing. At some point though, I started to feel like acting was taking more than it was giving. I had one too many directors treat me as a cheap commodity than a person. I decided to take a break.

Martial Arts.

Martial arts was something that I had always been vaguely interested in, as I honestly think most people are. It’s the reason that movie stunts have gotten so incredibly realistic and detailed lately. To the point of having actual world champions as minor characters in Marvel movies. I didn’t seriously look into studying it until a friend of mine was followed home and raped in her own apartment on New Years Eve. My boyfriend at the time said, “you girls all think you’re so tough, and what are you really going to do?” I bristled at that (as anyone would, let’s be honest) but I was self aware enough to actually think about his question. All I did was run and do minimal weight training. I was acting and taking public transportation and often coming home late at night. He’s right. I thought. I decided that if I didn’t get booked into a show by January, I’d start martial arts.

I didn’t get booked into a January show. I studied martial arts for about a decade. I even took almost an entire year off when it was time to test for my first black belt.

This was taken during a black belt ceremony. We were required to perform demos each time we were promoted up a belt level.

Degerberg Academy was a combative school, which I’m happy about. We didn’t learn katas or forms (no disrespect to those who do) but we learned the basics, then padded up and began to punch and kick each other. I sparred with people bigger than me and people smaller than me. I learned control and I learned when to let go. I learned to move in different ways. I learned that you can get punched hard and completely be outmatched, but you can keep fighting. I tested myself by fighting within my school, locally in Chicago, in the Golden Gloves, and then nationally and internationally in savate.

But beyond what I learned physically (although, how to throw a proper elbow into the face of an attacker is an invaluable skill, friends) the most valuable thing I learned from doing martial arts was about listening.

Just because you learned something one way, doesn’t mean someone else can’t teach you another way. Listen as if you have never learned the thing before. Give your instructor your attention. There is a reason that they are where they are. Learn from what they’re saying. Even if you don’t like the way they’re saying it.

Your teachers will come in all forms. Some of them will be as you expect a teacher to be; calm, firm, knowledgeable, respectful and articulate. Some of them will be haughty. Some of them will be angry. They will say offensive things. Sometimes they’ll be downright disrespectful. I’m not saying you should stand for abusive behavior. I am saying that I learned a lot about shutting my mouth and listening even when I thought the other person was wrong, wrong, wrong. And whether I was wrong or right, I never regretted just listening.

Family.

I never thought that I would be the one in our family to run off and sow wild oats. I never thought I would be the prodigal.

When I went to England, it was terrifying for my parents. Back then, there was no free long distance calling. There wasn’t emailing of documents. Cell phones (in the U.S.) were still mainly for emergency use. But I had applied for, worked for and earned a spot at a university in England that only accepted one candidate. But that candidate had to go for the entire year. After that battle was fought and won and everyone came out alive, moving to Chicago was easy for them. Not as much for me. I had learned a bit more about change and separation when I went to England, and I knew that Chicago had no expiration date. But I also knew I couldn’t stay in Louisiana, especially after having been to England.

A rare picture of all of us. This was taken by Dean the first time I brought him down south.

I made an amazing family of friends in Chicago. And I did all of it on my own, which was important to me. I knew that my parents were always there if I needed something, but I made my own way. I also only got to see my family, twice a year for the most part.

For many people, this would be fine, this would be great even. But I’m lucky in that I have a great family that I love and I want to spend time with them. I don’t need to live on the same block or even in the same state, but living where the weather could ruin a trip that I had planned for months was harder and harder. Living a 16 hour drive away started getting to be too much.

When I was in my twenties, it was all an adventure. I enjoyed being the one to send boxes of wrapped Christmas gifts home like my grandma used to do for us. It was so exciting to get that box. I enjoyed being the ‘exotic’ guest from this cold place and getting a warm respite. I enjoyed traveling by plane, with my wonderful cat tucked under the seat in front of me, an airline Jack & Coke to sip.

But my mom and I always cried when it was time to say goodbye. It was easier when I was the one doing the leaving, but they used to come and visit Chicago in the summer and I would be sad for at least a day after they left. It was always too long in between visits and too short of stays.

A Home.

I loved the condo in Lincoln Square. I was there for ten years. It was probably 750 square feet but it had everything I needed. When you rent in Chicago, as most people do, you never know when your rent is going to go up just enough that you can’t stay, or when your building will be sold and the new management company won’t keep up with the maintenance. Ultimately when I left, I sold the condo at a loss, but having spent a decade there was worth it.

I was able to affix permanent things to the walls that I loved. I was able to buy a treadmill, something that I had always wanted. Although the first few years I lived there, the downstairs neighbors wouldn’t let me play music at 4pm on a Saturday evening, so running on the treadmill became almost an impossibility. But I was there long enough for it to become a home. I learned how to garden on the back porch. I watched endless sunsets over the rooftops of my neighbors. Being on the top floor was something my dad had insisted was best when I had originally had no preference. I have mentally thanked him for that several times since. Oftentimes, my back porch was my sanctuary while I was there. Leaving the condo started a year before we actually left because I had to start cleaning out so much history. I hope it’s new owner loves it as much as we did.

Friends.

The brevity of this entry doesn’t lessen its import. Every place I’ve ever lived I’ve come away with at least one lifetime friend. Chicago is unique in that I lived a lot of life in it and went through a lot of changes. The people that are still with me are a compass. A touchstone. They remind me of who I was and of who I am. And they give me perspective. As all wonderful friends should do.

Leaving the fantastic posse of friends that I had cultivated in Chicago was the worst part about moving.

A Partner.

Yes, I met Dean in Chicago. While doing a show where we played an evil twin brother and sister. The great part about that was that we had all of our scenes together and we could make out al l over that theatre in between entrances. We also died sacrificing ourselves for the good of all, so not evil at the end, and thus had backstage to ourselves while everyone else was doing the final wrap up BS.

Engagement photo, taken by our friend Leigh.

I had also been a serial monogamist before Dean, so I had been in a few long term relationships that showed me very clearly what I wanted and didn’t want to live with. And Dean was also entirely different than anyone I had ever met before. He is the most honest, open, loyal and truthful person you will ever meet. And I wonder if he could have been grown anywhere but the midwest.

One of the things that I had missed in previous relationships was a connection with my significant other’s family. I wanted all of that. I wanted the holidays, the visits, the blend. I wanted more people. I wanted more family. Dean’s family is amazing and I’m so happy and lucky that they came attached to him.

This isn’t meant to be a love letter to Dean, but I would not have met him had we not been in Chicago, doing that play at the same time.

Jake.

Hedwig was my first ‘adult’ pet. I got her shortly after I moved to Chicago. Because I thought Hedwig was lonely, I got Jake. She hated him. He loved her. He loved almost everyone. Hedwig died two years after I got Jake, but Jake was with me for the long haul. My seventeen year pal. My Daemon. My heart is still sore from saying goodbye to him. I had another dream about him this week. Had I not gone to the Anti Cruelty Society on N. LaSalle Drive, I would not have had the almost two decades of mutual love and affection living with that amazing soul.

Chicago gave me all of those things. She also gave me my first bike. I learned how to be a bike commuter on those streets in all seasons. I learned how to deal with the worst cold ever. And I learned what was too cold for me. I made fitness a profession and worked for the best fitness clubs in that city and that is saying something. There is probably so much more. But those are the main points.

The longer I lived in Chicago, the more prepared I was to leave her.

The more I got into racing and biking, the more I hated the winters. The more I noticed how endless they were. The more often I got to see Dean’s family because they lived so close to Chicago, the sadder I became that mine were so far away. The more peace I found in tending to my little porch garden, the more I longed for a yard and a longer growing season. (And less asshole squirrels to pilfer anything worth eating.)

The move to Nashville was several years in the making and discussions about moving began before we were even married (as all such things should). Two years ago I wrote an entire blog post about why we decided to leave and all of the preparations that we had begun taking. I won’t rehash it all here. We knew moving would be a challenge. I think I was more aware than Dean, having been through more enormous moves in my life, and I knew that if I got much older, I wouldn’t have the energy to start all over again. And I didn’t want to grow old in a place that cold.

Our move was more fractured than anticipated (blogged about that too) but we finally finished the day after my birthday. Two days later, our apartment building caught fire. (See that blog here.)

We went through a lot that first year. We made friends, we bought a car, we got jobs, we had loss, we had fun, we eventually bought a house. Our first house, with a yard. The tornado hit immediately after. (Blog here). We lost power, but Jake was okay, we were okay. The following week, we had COVID shut downs. I made that garden. I learned more about teaching online than I ever thought possible. I dove into my writing. We lost Jake.

We got Aang and Cloud. I started working for a publisher. Dean and I have been able to spend time together every day.

It’s been weird, it’s been hard, it’s been wonderful and messy.

I’m so glad I lived in Chicago. It taught me about resilience. It taught me about change. It didn’t try to hold me back. It didn’t try to keep me there.

It just said, “You’ll always be a Sox fan now. Don’t forget to write.”

ChiTown Memories ~ Two Years Later