Warning Signs

Big cities are full of warnings. Whether we hear them from friends or in urban legends, we know not to go to certain areas after dark and we learn not to use public transportation on game day. Some warnings are far more serious than others, as the consequences of ignoring them can span from embarrassment to jail to death.

Live in the city long enough and we become experts at which warnings need heeding and which don’t, and we can laugh at those who don’t know the difference.

This happened to me today when I watched a rookie truck driver cause a massive traffic jam on North Avenue, having ignored an obvious warning sign.

Unmovable North Avenue traffic on a weekday afternoon is rare. As soon as I stepped outside, I saw stationary taillights lined up at least a half-mile in front of my apartment. Realizing I could walk faster than traffic moved, I soon caught up with the North Avenue bus at the site of the traffic jam. There, just past the Kennedy Expressway, a semi-truck was stuck under the Metra overpass. The top of the truck grated the iron rafters of the bridge, hopelessly ignorant of that yellow sign warning of a twelve foot, six inch clearance.

It was a mess, as traffic exiting the expressway fed into the bottleneck. A group of CTA workers huddled in the choked lanes, deciding what to do. A young woman walking by shouted at them in a thick accent, “Ever think of lettin’ the fuckin’ air outta the fuckin’ tires?”

“Ever think of watchin’ your fuckin’ mouth?”

I continued walking and noticed that the driver was still seat-belted in the truck. He seemed either unaware of the mess or didn’t want to face it. Such a silly situation, I thought, for the warning sign had been so blatantly clear. What kind of person sees that and moves forward anyway? What must that driver’s thought process have been like? That bridge looks mighty low. There's a good chance I could get stuck, and anger a lot of people. But I will go there anyway because I can’t seem to stop myself.

At some time or another, we are all like that truck driver. We press forth when the warning signs are painfully clear. It might not even be ignorance; it might just be an urge to press our luck. Most of the time though, we already know luck has nothing to do with it, and we go ahead anyway. For the driver, going under that bridge was the fastest way from point A to point B and he was too impatient to take the longer, but ultimately more successful route. For the rest of us, it is likely impatience and unruly curiosity that get us in trouble. The only time we’re lucky is when the incident passes as quickly as it began and we annoy as few people as possible.

In Chicago, there are many warnings and even more chances for us to ignore them. Thankfully, we get wiser. After some time, our mistakes damage fewer and take less time to fix. Only then can we discern which warnings deserve heeding and which don’t. Knowing that is the difference between being stupid and taking a risk that may just pay off in the end. Let’s just hope we recognize the moments when they appear.

Those Who Come and Go From Chicago

A city’s life is visible in the way it changes, and more importantly, who changes it. Gangsters, politicians, hipsters, punks – they’re the ones who corrupted Chicago’s neighborhoods, turned sketchy bars into artsy hangouts, and commissioned some of the city’s most beautiful buildings. No matter their reputation, the mark they left on Chicago is undeniable.

But there are also those who stamp Chicago in small ways that go unnoticed by the general public. For me, these people were my personal tour guides and my partners in crime. They were equally curious about Chicago’s attractions and mysteries. They were special people who helped me love Chicago, but have since left the city for good. Knowing them in the city has significantly changed my life here.

It all started by envying my sister’s life in Chicago while I lived in Wisconsin. Chicago nurtured Stephanie’s admirable independence, where she could live as a true artist. Stephanie painted the streets of Wicker Park, made this city her own, and inspired me to do the same.

In my first city post-college/Korea, it was Heather Lee, a friend from college, who showed me how to keep part of Madison alive here in Chicago. Heather brought me to Badger games at Redmond’s and Will’s on fall Saturdays, and introduced me to countless friends at her beer-themed house parties.

It was at one such “Bring Strange Beer” party that I met Christine and Gisella, twentysomethings with more curiosity about Chicago than anyone I’ve met. For when I was with Christine and Gisella, I discovered Indian food and brow threads on Devon. With these girls, I salsa danced for the first time at Rumba, tried Chicago’s own Argo Tea, ran around downtown on St. Patrick’s Day, and realized that the suburbs aren’t so bad when they have swimming pools. With Christine and Gisella, I ventured to Castaways at North Avenue Beach, and never felt compelled to go again. I discovered the best noraebang in the city where I can taste Korea any time I miss it. These are girls who measure a day’s success by the amount of food they try and the number of people they meet. They broadened my horizons by expanding the places I visit, giving me the travel bug in my own city.

It’s unreasonable for us to expect friends to stay a long time, just as we shouldn’t expect cities to remain unchanged. All we can do is appreciate how these things have impacted us, and in turn, how we might have impacted them. Because of Stephanie, Heather, Christine, Gisella, and all the others who have come and gone from the city, Chicago is forever changed.

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.

Avoiding Rush Hour

It may be that the best things in life are shared, but the bigger they are, the more they must be shared. This second truism explains our appreciation for unconventional beauty and quirky personalities. It’s why tourists are despised. We love having things all to ourselves. And so, we must go out of our way to fully enjoy the things in life that are most loved.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in the city. It may have something to do with growing up in a small city, for Chicago natives stuck in grid-lock on a precious Saturday seem unfazed. But for those of us from quiet cities with wide streets, waiting more than ten minutes for anything is extraordinary. Growing up, the only traffic jams I knew surrounded Lambeau Field. For people like me, big cities seem crowded all the time, whether it’s in a museum, on the el, at a bar, or along Michigan Avenue. Hit any of these places when they’re most popular and I feel exhausted before I begin.

The first city where I felt like this was Seoul, where every hour was rush hour. Nothing irritated me more than standing for an hour on the subway at ten p.m. on a weeknight. I dreaded navigating a transfer station amidst ten thousand Koreans, rushing by on both the right and left, their only concern the departing train behind me. Throwing elbows was imperative to surviving the chaos. At times, I had to give up, abandon my agenda, and follow the crowd, especially in the consumer-frenzied COEX Mall or Myeongdong shopping district. Other times, I did anything to avoid a crowd, no matter how out-of-the-way it was.

Compared to Seoul’s congestion, Chicago is an amateur, but it doesn’t mean it’s immune. During rush hour or on the blue line, I feel claustrophobic, anxious, annoyed. I get irritated with things that have nothing to do with the people around me. My alarm was too loud this morning. The pages of my book always stick together. Why were there no Red Eyes left? These things would go wholly unnoticed if I had a seat and weren’t staring into someone’s hair-covered coat.

Thus, one of the most valuable things I have learned while in Chicago is how to take advantage of its quiet moments. After a year and a half becoming significantly annoyed, I have cultivated the best ways to enjoy a headache-free Chicago:

Avoid rush hour
For almost four months, I worked from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon. Waking up at five a.m. was brutal, but my day was noticeably brighter on half-empty trains and wide-open sidewalks.

Wrigleyville is better on Thursdays
Thursday nights in Wrigleyville are void of its most unattractive parts: unnecessary cover charges, over-priced liquor, and duders with nothing but a pick-up line. Whether its cheap sangria at The Bar Celona or a free cover band at the Cubby Bear, my friends and I delight in fighting no one to have fun on Clark Street.

Forget that cute little brunch place everyone raves about and go Mexican instead
There’s this yuppie-meets-hipster brunch place in Wicker Park whose line out the door is as much a signature as its white chocolate and caramel covered pretzel pancakes. While imaginative and charming, patrons are rushed in, out of step with the laid-back rhythm of a Saturday morning. Far more enjoyable is Caoba, a Mexican restaurant whose wait staff is eager to please, whose chips and salsa are constantly replenished, and whose tasty food arrives quickly and lasts all day.

If you must go somewhere popular, be early and have a backup plan
As should be expected from the most fabulous speakeasy in the city, The Violet Hour has quite the demand come Saturday night. So popular is this Wicker Park hangout that patrons are actually turned away. After many attempts to show it off to friends, I realized just how early I had to arrive to get inside. Thus, I either get there at six p.m. or drink at the diner next door until my name is called (they call your phone, how chic!).

Find a way to be in the middle of it all without actually being in the middle of it
Millennium Park may be a Chicago landmark but the pictures don’t look so great with a hundred other tourists in them. Instead, check out the lawn of the Shedd Aquarium, whose grassy hill on the bank of Lake Michigan offers one of the best skyline views. A mere ten minutes from Millennium Park, it has become my favorite Zen place in the city. The sun shines brightly and the breeze from the lake is pleasant and cool. It is the best place to feel the energy of the city without any chaos.

Savor a good walk
There are few Saturdays or Sundays when I must be somewhere at a certain time, so instead of rushing, I lose myself in a good walk. Often the best way to explore a city, walking means not thinking about the bus that’s twenty minutes late, crawls once it finally arrives, and is so full it could bust open at any moment. To avoid the headache, I make a great playlist and happily enjoy Chicago’s streets with my own soundtrack and easy footwork.

Getting Used to the Cold

We in the Midwest often think we’re tougher than everyone else. Given our brutally cold winters, we believe our superhuman blood equips us to withstand Mother Nature’s harshest moods. Midwesterners believe it is a rite of passage, surviving a full year of blizzards, droughts, and everything in between. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.

But are we really as tough as that?

Maybe not, but we must survive anyway. And part of that survival lies in knowing what the landscape ahead looks like. Now that I’ve lived through twenty-five, bone chilling, Midwestern winters, I’ve begun to understand what to expect. When it is thirty degrees below zero, I know to make the most of my time in the sun. I know to wear ski gear in layers and forget about fashion. I read the thermometer before stepping out so I know just how to lean into the wind. I’ve learned to navigate Chicago’s underground tunnels and avoid certain el stops so I don’t have to step outside. I’ve learned to walk fast, because running hurts even more.

But there are times, when no matter how much I’ve prepared, I’m still not ready. I heard the news and I brace myself, ready to plow through the wind. And outside, my expectations are exactly right. It sucks. It stings. I’m mad at the whole world because it’s still difficult even though I knew it would feel this way.

It’s enough to make me reconsider my whole lifestyle. It’s enough to make me wonder if I really need to venture out to begin with. When it’s so cold, can’t I just stay inside, safe and warm?

Obvious reason aside – I doubt I could get exclusive privilege to telecommute for four months – there are plenty of justifications to face the cold. When we don’t venture out, we lack a depth of perception, a sense of reality, and we risk losing ourselves completely. When we don’t venture out, we forget just how fragile our safety and warmth is inside. It could all collapse in a second, and we’d be alone in the cold and darkness.

So we must depend on our tools, skills, and even our vices, to pull us through the depths of winter. And the more we endure, the more we acquire, so that each time, it’s just a little easier. Indeed, it changes our blood.

Better yet, there are times when I prepare for the worst, and it’s better than I expected. I prepared for snow and instead it is melting. I expected gray and instead there is sunshine. I saw wind and instead felt a breeze. It is beyond a pleasant surprise – it is a true miscalculation of expectations and it feels wonderful.

Does that mean it’s better to rid ourselves of expectations to roll with the punches? Absolutely not. But it does mean survival is easier with a positive outlook and chipper disposition. They’re so much more charming than doubt and insecurity besides. It may not make a person tough, but at least it makes her happy.

Inaugeration Day 2009

On this most historical day in American history, it seems appropriate to remember Chicago's greatest moment in recent history. On Election Night 2008 I was one of the lucky Chicagoans at the Obama Rally in Grant Park. My story may not be extraordinary for anyone else, but for me, it was the most incredible night of my life. The enormity of this once-in-a-lifetime night compelled me to write about it. Below is the email I sent to family and friends the day after the election.

The night started at three in the afternoon, as I met up with seven other friends at the entrance to Grant Park. Through a series of corrals and checkpoints over the next four hours, we chatted with strangers, speculated outcomes, and joked around. As we neared the final check-point at seven thirty, we could hear Wolf Blitzer faintly in the distance, and murmurs and then shouts ran through the crowd. "Virginia?? He won Virginia??? What? Oh. Pennsylvania. That's old news." At seven thirty, my friends and I entered the main event, already packed with thousands of people. The stadium lights, the jumbo-tron, the concentration of news cameras, the skyline, that stage off in the distance -- it was overwhelming. With little thought, we made our way into the crowd where we stayed for the next four hours.

The next four hours felt like the biggest, coolest party in the world. CNN was broadcast from the jumbo-tron and we had a perfect view. We tapped our feet, tried to get on TV, and watched the election unfold before us. The first group of states Obama won were no surprise, but drew loud cheers anyway, a warm-up for later. Even Elizabeth Dole's defeat drew woot-woots and fist-pumps. As CNN evenly projected the states, people speculated the chance of a McCain upset. The optimists scoffed, "There's no way Obama can’t win. How can you think that?" To which my friend Rob aptly replied, "I'm a liberal and a Cubs fan. I know what disappointment feels like."

The first memorable moment was victory in Ohio. The crowd bobbed up and down in celebration, and we all patted my friend Laura on the back for voting absentee in Ohio. Then we got updates for other states, their chronology a blur. Obama was leading in Florida. Obama won Wisconsin, Michigan, New Mexico, Colorado, Minnesota. Then, on CNN John King hypothetically gave McCain every other state up for grabs. That's when we knew. Rob, Laura, Christine, Jake, Carolyn, Jim, and Justin and I all looked at each other, a look I have never seen in my life. It was first a question and then an answer. He's really going to win.

Even though we knew, nothing prepared us for what was next. Again, just chit-chatting in anticipation, we stopped when CNN said a major announcement was on the way. We stared at the screen in anticipation. They were going to call California. Washington maybe. Hawaii too. And then "CNN Breaking News" flashed on the screen.

The crowd exploded before I saw the full sentence on screen: "Barack Obama elected President."

For as long as I live, I will never, ever forget that moment. I could barely form thoughts, for these unfamiliar feelings of success and elation were bursting to get out. We looked at each other with eyes bulging and mouths open. A million thoughts flooded my brain in a second: Omgomgomg. President Barack Obama. White House. Bye bye Bush. African American. Leader of the Free World. Kenya. Hawaii. Irag. Afganistan. Indonesia. North Korea. Chicago. Grant Park. This is History.

We jumped and jumped and jumped. Screamed at the top of our lungs. Clapped until our hands were raw. We hugged and high-fived. Quite literally smack-dab in the middle of two hundred thousand people, we could hardly take it all in. It was like time stopping, and speeding ahead at the same time. It was like winning the Super Bowl, graduating from college, returning home from a long absence, New Year's Eve, and hearing my favorite song all at once. It's hard to imagine feeling that ever again.

Maybe it seems a bit much, but for my friends and me, this was all so rare. Victory. Joy. Possibility. For the liberals of my generation, the only major history we've witnessed were school shootings and 9/11. The last time our "team" won an election was 1996, when we were just twelve. For two-thirds of our lives, the other side has won. For two-thirds of our lives, we had to remind ourselves, "Maybe next time." For one-third of our lives, it felt odd to chant "USA" without sarcasm. For one-third of our lives, the American flag represented "Maverick diplomacy" and "fear of the foreigner." We came of age in a country lead by a man we hate, an administration we fear, and an ideology we reject. But finally, FINALLY, our pessimism gave way to optimism.

At the rally, I chanted "USA! USA! USA!" at the top of my lungs with every other American there. We put our hands on our hearts during the Pledge of Allegiance. We joined in the National Anthem, singing without reservation. We were Democrats, we were liberals, this was our America too and we wanted the whole world to know it.

The rest of the night can only be described as the purest form of rejoicing I've ever seen. I grinned the whole time, receiving jubilant texts and voicemails from friends and family. All that was left was Obama himself.

When he finally did arrive, we cheered and stood on our tip-toes hoping for a glance. Because we stood on flat ground, we had no view of him except on the jumbo-tron. I never actually saw him. But I heard him, and felt that giant crowd respond to the memorable speech, and even noticed the Secret Service helicopters above. The crowd was relatively quiet, listening, some too emotional to cheer. I felt proud and was incredibly grateful to have been there.

The next morning, I woke to my alarm. I shook my head, rubbed my eyes, thought ‘Is it five already?’ and then stopped when I remembered the night before. Holy cow, ohmygod, Barack Obama is President of the United States.

It was a beautiful day to wake up in America.

Shake the Blues Away in Chicago

Only in a truly fabulous city can you start the weekend in a terrible mood, convinced that a good portion of the people in this world are inherently bad, and end the weekend feeling hopeful, the blues having been charmed away.

It started Friday night at Kingston Mines, one of Chicago’s great live music venues. Egged on by the emcee’s cheers for Chicago’s pride and joy – “Can I get a yeah for Obama?!” – I danced and danced, the steady bass my lead, the electric riff my motivation. Jake accompanied me on the floor, likely out of pity (albeit well-concealed pity), just so I didn’t have to dance alone. With good friends at my side, I felt loved, and felt great joy in my heart for those around me.

This feeling continued Saturday afternoon at Doug’s house in Lincoln Park, where I found the host drunk and disproportionately happy. Grilling one turkey outside and roasting another inside, Doug entertained a few of us with hilarious stories and inappropriate jokes. The thing I love about Doug is his simple sense of purpose. Only Doug could host a Thanksgiving dinner in January for no other reason but his everlasting love of good food and good friends. By the time I left, I had laughed my way to contentment.

Saturday night hit a peak more than ninety stories above Chicago, at the Signature Lounge in the John Hancock Building. Always touristy, but surprisingly charming, my friends and I sipped cocktails, pretending our lives were more glamorous than they are, watching the world glitter below. It reminded me of the nights I gazed at Seoul behind the glass of Namsan Tower, enthralled by the lights and activity below. Above the city like that, I felt there was nowhere else I’d rather be but Chicago.

In big-city fashion, I followed the lofty Signature Lounge with a stop at the very grounded Map Room in Bucktown. A true neighborhood corner bar, the Map Room boasts map-papered walls, shelf after shelf of National Geographics, and the best imported beer in town. I chatted the rest of the night away with Christine, Doug, and Safet. A tasty framboise in hand, surrounded by a refreshingly impartial crowd, I felt totally satisfied.

Sunday rounded out the weekend with some pleasant surprises. The afternoon was sunny, so even though I had to work, the views from my office were beautiful, and happily reminded me of the night before. For dinner, my friend Matt took me out for Korean barbecue, where we reminisced about living and traveling abroad. Always down for something exciting, Matt suggested we follow dinner with salsa dancing at the Cubby Bear. It turned out to be a memorable night of dance lessons and Latin rhythms. I went home feeling as though I’ve only just begun to discover Chicago’s fun.

Now the weekend has ended, and even though I made little progress on anything of consequence, I’m in high spirits. I’m in a better place than at the beginning of the weekend, convinced I have the best friends in the world.