The Cost of Living

It seems like everyone these days is weighing the cost of living in Chicago. All we do is wonder how long we can survive before moving home. Just as with the cold, we wonder why we try so hard to make it here when taxes are high, politicians corrupt, and groceries expensive.

Last week, over espresso and paninis at Caffe de Luca, my friend, J.Z., and I talked at length about this dilemma. With so many variables in our lives – the economy, relationships, jobs, families – we wondered if life is supposed to feel like a permanent juggling routine. Are we always waiting for something to drop and our lives to fall apart?

Long ago, my dad warned about the excesses of our culture, of people living beyond their means. We are a consumerist culture and we have come to expect a lot from life. As J.Z. and I continued to talk, we started to realize that while some of our unhappiness couldn’t be helped, a lot of it could. As Americans, we’ve tricked ourselves into believing that retail therapy actually works. Just because we can’t buy and drink and style our way to satisfaction, life seems unbearable.

It may seem that because stock markets are crashing, we are too. But we know better; we know that no matter who we are or how much money we have, loved ones die and couples break, we lose our jobs and our families fight. All that changes – all that has ever changed – is our attitude and whom we choose to bring with us.

That’s how I see it, anyway, for as I returned to Chicago this weekend, unsure of how I was going to make it to Monday, I felt overwhelmed by this bright city. Driving into the city, the skyline a welcome mat, it reminded me of traveling to Chicago as a kid, when my siblings and I competed to spot the Sears Tower first. Compared to quiet Green Bay, Chicago’s city streets showed us the exciting lives we could have.

In Chicago, we could meet people from all over the world, whether it was at a corner grocery store or a Cubs game. We could watch sailboats from the Lincoln Park Zoo. We could run through the lobbies of grand hotels or world-renowned museums. Leaving Chicago depressed me back then, but it gave me something to dream about on dreary school days. Indeed, the only way I made it through middle and high school was in knowing I was destined for the flavorful city life.

So here I am, broke as a joke in an expensive city and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. My house may not look like a catalog and I may not be in the middle of a whirlwind romance, but I am indeed on my way to living the life I always wanted. I’ve met life-long friends in Chicago, had unforgettable days and nights, and my life feels multi-dimensional, no matter how difficult it seems. As I watch the famous skyline rise above the city amidst a wintry sunset, I can see what lies ahead of me. There is more to do and more people to meet and I’ve only just started.

Maybe we should all be more mindful of that.