It makes answering the ‘how are things going?’ question a very difficult one to answer, because until things are decidedly doing so well you’re almost surprised by it all, you’re really just surviving. Things are going well because you get to be inside of your project and the world revolves around your ideas.
We were graciously afforded the Lincoln Sabre (I’ll never forget the model) to head into ‘town’ to kill some time. What that means, in fact, is that it was still light out, maybe mid afternoon, and we were allowed to drive into Galena to “check out the shops”. That, to us at the time, meant laugh at the locals and putz around, talking about pressing highschool social matters for a few hours before returning home for dinner on the grill next to the lake. We were in highschool and we were needing to escape, and we all felt alive as we headed into town.
Doug, myself, and a group of about 30 other Chicagoans managed to forge a bond that’s lasted long beyond our time online together, and through debates, jokes, and heartfelt digital conversations we managed to forge bonds that we did take offline, and many a bar in Chicago thanked us for it. Among the crowd we welcomed people of all shapes, sized, and ages, with a common thread of humor and intellect.
There’s that St. Patrick’s Day was probably taken very seriously last week, and the NCAA March Madness basketball games were probably on television in all the bars (and condos, for that matter).
It’s not just the sports, though. It’s not just drinking as a sport (which is how I’d characterize my past St. Patty’s Days). Actually, drinking as a sport is something Canadians do well, come to think about it.
I’m fairly confident means that that I’m crazy, and I’ll look back on the whole experience and wonder what lead to my being the kind of guy who would move to a foreign country without a work permit, a place to live, or enough time to really say goodbye to friends and family.
Yet here I was, hopping in a cab because my ride couldn’t outwait an overly inquisitive border patrol, skimming through a city I knew almost nothing about aside from the facts purged from a visitor’s guide I’d received from my adorable mother when plans began to formalize around my move.
As a blogger, though, I’ve spent a lot of my written words pushing for a few common endeavors within the community. One of them is transparency; I think blogging is at it’s best when we try to be concise and honest. The other is confidence; I think personal bloggers write themselves towards a voice that represents them, and the more they write the closer we all get to the good stuff.
Whenever I sit and contemplate what it means to relocate I keep coming back to the idea that it’s impossible to know what it’s like until you do it. Relocating your life is going to be a very different experience depending on the point in your life in which you do it. Sure, if you moved last year and you’re moving again this year, there may be some continuity between the experiences.
I’m a kid that was born in a non-remarkable suburb that way back when I was growing up formed a line between the Chicagoland area and the rolling gold corn fields that didn’t end until Iowa started. I didn’t know Chicago in those days. I knew New York better than I knew Chicago, actually…every year I spent some time in the Big Apple…I barely remember any real time in downtown Chicago until after I went away to college.