No. 47

I'm not sure if my constant desire to move speaks more to my love for travel, or to the fact that I have a serious problem committing to doing any one thing for more than 3 minutes. I fear the latter, which is why I'm trying to be more Zen about things. Jon explained Zen to me last week: "Hm. That's a feeling. Now I gotta do a thing."

Okay, so, I am trying to not let my desperate desire to flee to Guatemala or St. Petersburg make me unhappy to be right here in Chicago, Illinois, a city I desperately missed while living in the beautiful land of Chile.

Much like the wife half of an old married couple, I am trying to remember the twinkle in my eye, the spark for Chicago I had but a few months ago when I visited during my summer vacation from teaching in Santiago. My first day back, I paid a visit the Whole Foods on Halsted, a place I missed more than would be appropriate to share. It was one of those really sunny winter days in Chicago when the air is frozen still but the rest of the city seems so vibrant and in-motion, awakened by the blessed light so dearly missed during our charactertistically grey Februarys in the midwest. It was one of those very rare experiences when I don't think I could have been happier to be exactly where I was.

Sometimes Chicago can seem a bit stale, and the lure of the road--air travel, that is--makes me itchy for new adventure. But, if I am going to re-commit to life in Chicago, a city where everybody knows my name and they're always glad I came, for the most part...I can't think of a place I'd rather be than this beautiful neighborhood of Rogers Park. There are a million magical things about it, and I keep discovering hidden treasures--a sculpture garden, a couple of houses that look like they came out of a Southern storybook, an apartment building covered entirely in ivy, a tree on the beach.

Thank you, Rogers Park, for continually dazzling me, even if my mind loves to wander anywhere but where it is.

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