My mom and I arrived in Chicago one late night in December 2001, a few days shy of my 24th birthday. I was struck by the lights that shimmered from the high rise buildings as we rounded the bend of Lakeshore Drive towards the Belmont Ave exit. Bitter cold, one's breath was visible with even the most minute exhale. After deciding on a studio apartment at 432 W. Belmont, we quickly unloaded my meager belongings. Mom helped with the process of unpacking and making apartment 304 resemble that of a cozy "home." We crossed things off our to-do list as we hopped on and off Chicago's buses and trains, which was a totally new experience for both of us. I remember being worried that if we didn't step on and off of the "el" platform quickly enough, the automatic doors would close in on us. I had never been on a subway train before.
On my birthday, Mom and I laughed about the drama that ensued between a cab driver and passenger as we ordered our popcorn before "Vanilla Sky." Bundled up in our coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, we sought refuge in my apartment and the heat that steamed from the old metallic radiator underneath my window.
Christmas was strange that year because it was just the two of us, but mom didn't want me to be alone. Neither did I. A big part of me wondered how I was going to manage this whole 'alone in the big city' venture I had boldly decided to undertake, as I was afraid to be alone. What if someone breaks into my apartment or robs me on the street? What if I get lost and end up in a bad neighborhood of the city? What if no one wants to talk to me or get to know me? I'm all by myself. What will I do? These were the anxious thoughts that ran through my mind. Yet when I waved goodbye to my mother as she stepped onto a bus the day after Christmas, I thought about times I have been alone.
I am the only product of what came of my mom and dad's marriage. My parents divorced before I could even form a memory of having seen them together. I have no recollection of them as a couple. It has always been Mom or Dad, not Mom AND Dad. As young as seven years old, I had boarded more Delta, American, Southwest and Northwest airlines by myself than any other kid I knew. Traveling from the northeast to hot and humid Tampa, Florida every summer, I would gaze out the window, read a book during flights, and chat with friendly neighbors on the plane. I impatiently awaited the long, dreadful layovers in big cities like Atlanta and New York City, but being served peanuts in a shiny airline package more than made up for it.
Bouncing from Chesapeake, Virginia to Panama City, Florida, to Kingwood, Texas over the span of four years, I had become almost a natural at the role of "the new kid in town." What if I get lost in the halls of the cavernous school? What if my classmates think I'm weird or not cool enough? What if I don't make any friends? What if I miss the bus?
I remember frequently feeling like I was always alone, even when I was surrounded by other people (including family). Sometimes I would stare out the second floor bedroom window of our home in Kingwood with tears welling up in my eyes, wondering when I wouldn't feel so alone anymore. .....Or was it lonely?
Perhaps what I was really afraid of that first night all by myself in the Windy City was not of being alone, but of being lonely. I had spent a majority of my childhood feeling lonely, but my twenty-four year old adventurous spirit was allowing me a powerful opportunity: I could be a strong, independent adult, alone without being lonely.
There's lonely and then there's alone. Chicago taught me there is a difference between the two.
On my birthday, Mom and I laughed about the drama that ensued between a cab driver and passenger as we ordered our popcorn before "Vanilla Sky." Bundled up in our coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, we sought refuge in my apartment and the heat that steamed from the old metallic radiator underneath my window.
Christmas was strange that year because it was just the two of us, but mom didn't want me to be alone. Neither did I. A big part of me wondered how I was going to manage this whole 'alone in the big city' venture I had boldly decided to undertake, as I was afraid to be alone. What if someone breaks into my apartment or robs me on the street? What if I get lost and end up in a bad neighborhood of the city? What if no one wants to talk to me or get to know me? I'm all by myself. What will I do? These were the anxious thoughts that ran through my mind. Yet when I waved goodbye to my mother as she stepped onto a bus the day after Christmas, I thought about times I have been alone.
I am the only product of what came of my mom and dad's marriage. My parents divorced before I could even form a memory of having seen them together. I have no recollection of them as a couple. It has always been Mom or Dad, not Mom AND Dad. As young as seven years old, I had boarded more Delta, American, Southwest and Northwest airlines by myself than any other kid I knew. Traveling from the northeast to hot and humid Tampa, Florida every summer, I would gaze out the window, read a book during flights, and chat with friendly neighbors on the plane. I impatiently awaited the long, dreadful layovers in big cities like Atlanta and New York City, but being served peanuts in a shiny airline package more than made up for it.
Bouncing from Chesapeake, Virginia to Panama City, Florida, to Kingwood, Texas over the span of four years, I had become almost a natural at the role of "the new kid in town." What if I get lost in the halls of the cavernous school? What if my classmates think I'm weird or not cool enough? What if I don't make any friends? What if I miss the bus?
I remember frequently feeling like I was always alone, even when I was surrounded by other people (including family). Sometimes I would stare out the second floor bedroom window of our home in Kingwood with tears welling up in my eyes, wondering when I wouldn't feel so alone anymore. .....Or was it lonely?
Perhaps what I was really afraid of that first night all by myself in the Windy City was not of being alone, but of being lonely. I had spent a majority of my childhood feeling lonely, but my twenty-four year old adventurous spirit was allowing me a powerful opportunity: I could be a strong, independent adult, alone without being lonely.
There's lonely and then there's alone. Chicago taught me there is a difference between the two.
1 comment:
Very nice. I enjoyed reading that, the emotions felt familiar.
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