On August 4, I left my grandparents’ house on a redeye, and instead of sleeping I watched two movies. It was the day a job application was due. Apply, a couple of my friends told me. Even though I’m still in grad school? Yes.
It’s been three months since then. I’ve been in Seattle twice, Boston twice, New York, San Francisco, and various eclectically named cities and towns – Carnation, Glacier, Tacoma, Hamilton, Sturbridge, Princeton, Palo Alto, Berkeley, Packwood, Ogunquit; and, of course, Chicago, Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler. There were two weeks in which I was working four jobs, interviewing for another job, taking classes, and writing 5000 words a day. Other than that, my summer has now lasted over five months. It’s finally time for it to end:
- Since graduating college, I’ve never left a place when I was supposed to. I’ve often left under unpleasant circumstances. This is, I think, my happiest move so far.
- I try to hold all my goodbyes in my life at once, and the more times I say goodbye and the more people I start caring about in more places I’m not sure if it becomes easier or harder.
- I took a train across the country and met many older travelers and we talked about youth. Whatever has been done, has been done again. There is nothing new under the sun.
- For 30 minutes I ended up at a bus stop I wasn’t supposed to be at, carrying my suitcase and watching a drag queen lipsync to Shakira across the street. Life is bittersweet.
- Chicago. I keep reading the Chicago poem (the tabs I have up are this, and the book of Ecclesiastes). I keep remembering January before the pandemic when the air was crisp and the streets were empty and full of light. I remember biking and sharing stories. I remember the skyline of the city, sitting with old friends on an autumn night. I remember when my friend arrived in midwinter, and we walked for hours in the deepest snow of the year. I remember when my friends arrived in midsummer and there was an airshow going on, the planes flying right over the buildings. I remember the park in the freezing cold. I remember near-empty churches. I remember cooking with my brothers. I remember all I learned about this place and all I never did. I keep walking around the streets and marveling at how wide they are. I keep walking around the lake; I’ve seen it hundreds of times, and every time it continues to amaze me. Chicago, I left you because I loved you so much it started to hurt.
- When I leave a place, the quality of light always becomes more beautiful, so beautiful that I can’t decide whether I want to absorb it into me or to myself become part of the light.
- I’ll return someday.
I’m following that train.