Today, I…
…rode through half the city.
It was 70 degrees and the sun was working extra hard to shine its light on all the little people of the city, resulting in sunburn on my arms, face and neck. My trip took me from Rogers Park, through Lawndale, down to Little Village, into Pilsen, over to Downtown, up to Edgewater, and then back home. I put those links in there so the tenacious researcher can go check out the demographic information, because it’s fascinating.
As hackneyed as this may sound, I rode past people smoking a blunt on the corner in Lawndale, caught whiffs from a tortilla maker in Little Village, and avoided white hipsters in Pilsen. I grabbed lunch with a friend I had not seen in months and we discussed our lives in the city, and whether or not we liked Chicago. I had to think about that. Do I like this city? I like living in this city, sure, but do I like the city? It struck me that I didn’t know how to answer that question other than to say, “it is what it is, you know,” like what does it matter if I do or don’t. Does it matter how you feel about your family? They’re still your family. This is still my home for a few more months.
But riding through these streets, feeling the smog cling to my sweat and knowing that my q-tips will be black after my next shower, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a while. I felt an honest sense of home. And with that, embraced the iconic odors, the apparent inevitability of gentrification, the universal hustle to make rent, the yelling at cars, the yuppies and elitism, the racism and segregation, and that goddamn wind. I embraced the wholeness of this place.
I love only slightly more of this city than I hate, but this is where I am. And in someone else’s words, “It ain’t where you’re from / It’s where you’re at.”
