It’s been a whirlwind of a month. At the end of May I packed my bags, hopped in the car and left Washington, DC. I returned to Colorado long enough to help my parents box up their home of 11 years and move with them to Chicago. It’s a bittersweet journey, saying goodbye to two places I have grown to call home and embarking on a new adventure.
I’ve spent in my life, a cumulative total of maybe 10 hours in Chicago, 95% of which I spent in Union Station waiting for the train. I’m told by everyone I know that Chicago is incredible. I’m told it’s beautiful. I’m told it’s cultural. I’m told I will love it. I suppose that everyone can’t be wrong.
But I hate change. I hate not knowing what train or bus will take me where I want to go. I hate not knowing what the neighborhoods are like and what there is to do and see when you’re there. I guess I didn’t know those things when I moved to DC either, so just as I did then, I’ll learn.
Aside from the blatant brutality of being stuck in the suburbs (with no chance thus far to travel downtown) and the criminal record-high heat since I’ve arrived, I guess it’s not so bad. The little villages around Chicago are cute. There are beautiful parks, Frank Lloyd Wright homes, and streets lined in twinkly lights. If you were dropped off in the middle of one, you might think you’ve stepped onto a Hollywood studio.
The moment I set foot in downtown Chicago with my camera, I know I’ll go gah-gah for the architecture and its history.