Weak Image, Broken Fingers
I was just reading the previous posts I wrote on here, looking for some inspiration on where to take this one, and realizing as I was recalling the memories captured before that what Parker said to his partner Longbaugh is true: a plan is just a list of things that don’t happen. And life goes on.
The job is working out fine. I’m still fumbling through the computer systems a little, but it’s getting more comfortable with each day. There might even be a shot at a position up the ladder a little, which would be nice if it happens. Money is still tight for the moment, and the novelty of living in the 3rd largest city in the country comes and goes with more regularity. Something’s off right now, and I’m still trying to put my finger on it. A sizeable group of old friends from Ohio came over a couple weekends ago, followed by my brother the one after. Great times were had, laughs and comaraderie shared, yet each visit left behind a helpless, anxious feeling. A feeling I haven’t felt in over ten years. Not homesickness per se, but it’s the first word that comes to mind. Maybe I’m not eating enough, maybe I’m drinking too much, maybe it’s chemical, maybe it’s spiritual. Either way, it just kinda broadsided me, and I’m at a point where I’m disturbed by the fact that I don’t understand what it means or where it’s coming from. I’m unsettled, insecure and even a little fearful. I’m sure this carries something deeper with it; something I need to work out at my Father’s feet. I just wasn’t expecting a rush of underlying emotion as inflamed as this.
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I’ve seen enough here to know that the same occupied space in all of its element can awe as much as it can repulse. I’ve seen skyscrapers collected together, lighting the nighttime horizon like monolithic candles. I’ve seen love expressed on my corner in passions restless and quiet. I’ve seen flames incinerate the air and blacken the structures fifty feet away from its blistering bed. I’ve seen horizontal lightning turn the sky into a blinding, instantaneous x-ray of veined sinew. I’ve seen socks stained with the sweat and blood of feet that have been walked through miles of shelterless concrete.
I’ve seen hyperbole, and I’ve seen the unsung.
I feel like both.
...which brings us to now.
Breaking radio silence. The job has been laid, like the big fish that would have never found its way to the hook were it not destined to be so. There I was with a cigarette in my fingers, sitting on the back deck sometime late at night during the first week of happily found employment, thanking God above for the affirmation I had been yearning for since making the uncertain journey to Chicago two months earlier. A week later (speaking of now), I’m still reeling from the blessing. Despite the cloud hovering over the otherwise carefree days of frivolity in and around the city, the spontaneous excursions with newly found friends, the organic, soul-bearing conversations born of night, the sticky, hot, wonderfully humid days and the bizarre, inexplicable lovemaking erupting inside the Blazer parked outside the house at 3am (of which I was the amusedly unfortunate witness to), I wanted, above all else, to feel like I was meant to be here. For the time being, it appears I am.
More to come, sans the previous delay. I love you all.
Beth-El
I’ve kinda been holding off on writing this because of all the balls still hanging in the air awaiting their rapid descent, and the anxiousness that’s tied into this momentary suspension. I wanted this re-entrance into blogdom to be about the awesome elements of big city integration and how great it all is. But I’m realizing that this struggle is all a part of that dream. The following story fits with this theme, I promise. Bear with me.
Years ago, I had a freakish, surreal run-in with a woman I hadn’t seen in over 6 or 7 years. At the time I knew her, she had lived next door to some of my best friends from high school. Her stepson was a regular fixture whenever I’d come over to watch movies/play video games/pick-up basketball. She and her husband were always great to us kids. The “cool” parents. We even helped them out on the weekends, for a few months’ stretch, fixing up some rental property they owned on the West side of Cincinnati. Then they moved, and I didn’t see them much after that, except in the increasingly rare visits I’d make with my friends. And so it happened, years after those times had passed, that I was bringing my car into the shop to get looked at. Mr. Moreland, the owner, was a family friend, so I would always spend some time catching the other up on how family and life was. We were in the middle of light conversation she walked in the door and asked for information on U-Haul rentals. It took me a few seconds to remember where I knew her face from. She seemed harried, asking Mr. Moreland if he knew of anyone she could get to help her move heavy furniture on short notice. When he said he didn’t work on that end of things, she turned to me and said, “I know that I don’t know you from Adam, but is there any way you could help me move for a couple hours this afternoon. I’ll pay you. The guys who were supposed to help me backed out, and I don’t have anyone else to ask. Please.”
I was stunned, mostly because I actually recognized her, but also because of how desperate she was. “Debbie… I know you. Andrew Dykstra. I was friends with the Browns when you lived on Crystalhill.” Shock. Bewilderment. Recognition. Relief. I called trusty Elijah up to help out, and the rest of the day turned into a blur, flickering ridiculous signs of divine sovereignty. What are the odds? Scratch that - what the hell ARE odds in situations like this. The very first thing she asked me in the U-Haul on the way to her place was, “Andrew, do you believe in God?” I had to smile.
I look back on that day with an unending feeling of sheer awe. I imagine being in her position: desperate, anxious, perplexed, alone. She was looking for a fresh start, though hers was on the East coast, to get away from some toxic situations. Even with the circumstantial differences, I can feel the pull towards those emotions too. That ugly catch-22 with the car and the job hunt is still in need of a resolution. Paralysis threatens to set in, even as I know in my heart I must keep moving forward. I think about what I left behind to get to Chicago. I think about all the affirmation I was getting, imagining God above motioning me through the doors with the grace and style of a matador. The anticipation was pure and intoxicating. By the time I started my last week at work, I felt nothing but an ache to leave. To finally reach a destination that perched on the edge of a plane I had never seen before. I was finally going to find what growing up felt like. And here I am, three weeks later, feeling those growing pains stabbing through me. Just what I wanted, right? Please.
My mom told me after that day with Debbie that, as was a common practice of reverence and remembrance in the Old Testament, I should set up an altar of some kind. Create some kind of landmark, physical or otherwise, to look at and remember His faithfulness during a time that I can pinpoint and use as a reference for my present and future. I guess this will finally serve as that, my very own Beth-El. I need to remember now more than ever.
A Mile Used To Go A Lot Farther...
I wouldn’t say the Illinois highway system sucks - but I hate it with the fury of a million supernovas. Cincinnati’s highway experience is like the Candyland to Chicago’s Risk. Chi-town is more complex, more intricate, more tearing-out-the-hair-roots frustrating. It’s an unfair comparison, to be honest. That kind of bedlam is necessary here. And yet, I miss the simplicity of the route, the consistency of the pace, the lack of stress behind the predictability of it all. 20 miles got me a lot farther back then. Or so it seems.
The reason for that paragraph lies in the two job interviews I’ve had this week, both in the West ‘burbs. The first was on Tuesday at a temp agency in Schaumberg, about 25 miles away from me. It was set for 1:30. I didn’t get there until 2:30, despite leaving at 12:15, 1/2 hour earlier than the time of travel was estimated. Not a huge deal. It’s a temp agency interview, and the guy I was meeting knew my situation, that I was brand spankin’ new to the area. He chalked it up to ignorance of the routes, which I appreciated. When I called him 15 minutes before the interview was set, not knowing where I was, he calmy told me I just went a good 1/2 hour out of my way, then asked if I just wanted to reschedule. I told him that come hell or high water, I was making it over to him one way or the other. He was cool with that, we had the interview, and the game was officially afoot. He sent my resume out to a mail order pharmacy slightly closer to me, and I got a direct interview with them today at 2. Again, because I couldn’t get away with tardiness this time, I left at 12:30. ETA - 40 minutes “(with traffic)”.
Here’s the thing: if you miss an exit over here, you don’t get many chances to pull a U somewhere and backtrack. You miss an exit, automatically chalk on another 20 minutes to your time, including going through the tolls again, if you’re lucky. I made it on time, with about 5 minutes to spare. During the interview, the woman asked me if I’d be up for commuting that far from where I lived. I tried to sound convincing when I said “Absolutely”, but I’m not yet sure if I convinced myself. If the pay was more, maybe. That car is my biggest expense.
I won’t hear til Monday if I get the job or not. If I do, it’s time to put the bells on and give it my best. I have the conviction for that. If I don’t get it, part of me is going to breathe a huge sigh of relief and start focusing my search closer to home. I don’t want to be an ingrate. Work is work in this economy, and beggars can’t be choosers. I’m just a bit concerned about the Catch-22 proposition at hand here. I can’t get to this job without a car, but the job, in all likelihood, is not going to be able to pay me enough to be able to afford the car. It’ll float me for maybe a month or two, but if I can’t compensate enough through another job or climb that corporate ladder like my feet are on fire, it may not be worth it.
Trust In Providence… My God, feed my faith.
He Don't Got Game
I hurt. Just about every muscle that involves climbing stairs, going to an upright position, standing straight, walking, turning my head etc etc… hurts. This is probably due to the fact that I’ve exerted myself physically more in the last 48 hours than I have in the last 6 months. Jake’s got a weight set (bless him), so I did some curls and crunches for the first time in years. Did a number on me. That night, Tim and I drove out to Elmhurst (in the West ‘burbs) to meet up with Adam and pick up a washer/dryer set from an older couple out there. Craig’s List is kind of great. The dryer was cake to move. That washer was a beast and, as it turned out after we loaded it in the van, waterlogged. Next morning, while on a quest to find a cheap, clean (emphasis on both) grill to add to the increasingly bachelor vibe of the Bellefonte (aka our abode), I ran across a flimsy but sufficient bookshelf and perfectly sized clothes dresser for $25 at this 3 story Salvation Army store, so I bought them. After moving all the furniture/appliances, we decided it would be a good idea to find a park somewhere and play basketball. It was the perfect day for it: a consistent 70 something temp out, scant breeze breathing if any at all.
I felt like an old white guy out there. Got knocked on my ass more than a couple times, and couldn’t hit a jumper to save my life. I really had to stay low and post up, capitalizing on the put-back opportunities that I got, and letting that be that. I need to find that J again though. I miss it so much; being able to launch the three and feel it snap the net before it even got there. But either way, I can’t deny how great it felt to have a basketball in my hands again with a hoop to aim it at. Like poetry in motion rediscovered.
Today it was rainy and cold. Earlier this week, while searching PCA churches in the area, one caught my eye. It’s close; a plus, since I’m still fumbling my way around the area. It professes a reformed faith. It holds services inside a former catholic cathedral, beautiful in its ornately carved sanctuary, palpable in a reverent resonance. All three of the roomies were down for joining me in attending the service this morning, and we all walked away feeling positive about the experience. They served communion, and it was the first protestant service I’ve attended where they used actual wine instead of grape juice in the sacrament. There was something to that that really appealed to me. Most importantly, the Word of God was directly utilized and interpreted in the sermon in a way that challenged me and caught my heart up in a yearning to know Him ever more. It was devinely touched.
As far as the job hunt goes, it seems Illinois operates differently than Ohio on the pharmacy front, in that you have to be licensed in the state in order to be eligible for a tech position. I’ll start calling temp agencies up tomorrow to get the lowdown on that. It’s a Plan B I wasn’t anticipating, but every time I see one of the numerous birds flitting around (even the ones who feel it necessary to see my car as the only toilet around), the passage comes to mind where I am assured that if He ensures that the birds are fed and sheltered, how much more will He fulfill those assurances to me as well. God, keep me mindful…
My Synechdoche
So yesterday I popped my transit cherry, and it was pretty sweet. Once I learn the routes (give me at LEAST a month for that though. Between the 8 or so train lines and the bazillion or so bus lines, it’s going to take me a minute), I can totally see that mode of transportation being not only the one of economy, but the one of preference. Josh was right: you see a completely different city from the windows of an el rolling unhindered dozens of feet above the ground than you can from behind a driving wheel in the perpetual state of stop-and-go traffic. The neighborhoods, alleyways, parks and city blocks whisking by, many of the apartment building rooftops being level with the eyeline of the heaving traincar’s windows, lend a kinetic element to the sights of a city’s existence. There’s so much diversity of life down there; you almost feel like a spectator of a grand play, where the parts of the city and the parts of the people are almost interchangeable. From this distance they define and perpetuate one another, until the ride stops and you descend or ascend to street level and become a part of the play yourself, and the cycle continues.
Jake’s and my first stop, after meeting up with Lish, a friend of my roommates, was the Bean at Millenium Park for a staged “happening” directed by temp roommate/Second City artist Justin, in which a frog appears from the ether and incites choreographed dancing and merrymaking, while casual tourists and bystanders become unwittingly involved as witnesses to an event that dissipates as quickly as it began. Fun to watch. Justin seemed happy with the outcome. After that ended, Justin went to start looking at the footage he shot while Jake, Lish and I headed back to the train, pondering our plans for the rest of the evening. Lish invited us back to her apartment in Wicker Park (conveniantly on the way to ours) to play some cards. I taught them both how to play Rummy and true to form, I got annihilated. Beat by a couple newbies. As much as I love playing it, Rummy has never taken much of a shine to me. At least I’m with people who like to play cards. Euchre sits on the horizon.
Day 2 1/2 (Blue Monday, White Noise)
Objective #1 (probably not in order of actual acheivement): get a camera. Aside from the photos courtesy of Hayes & Bergman, the only visuals I will be able to commit to these posts are the ones painted in your heads by way of words. I hope to remedy that soon, but for now I work with what I have.
This morning, my movers, salt-of-the-earth Dan Hayes and his high strung brother Chris Bergman, finally set off on their journey back to Cincinnati. The transition here wouldn’t have been half as smooth without their presence, and for that alone I am eternally grateful. Yesterday, we drove (something I’ll be doing a lot less of, I think) downtown a couple times: firstly to Millenium Park to see the enormous, metallic and totally reflective Magic Bean sculpture (which is NUTS. I’d hate to be high on anything around that thing. It’s a trippy sight all by itself), explore the city blocks a bit and make our way down to the Lake itself. We killed about 2-3 hours, drinking in the sights and trying to justify an obscene $14 parking fee.
Later that evening, we went to visit Chris’s cousin and her husband down in Hyde Park on the south side of the city. Although I’ve heard a few horror stories about the south side of Chicago, I can’t really articulate the ease I felt while driving through that area we were in. It stands in fairly sharp contrast (in which I’m finding quickly that Stark Contrast is the very personification of Chicago itself) to the aesthetic just east of Avondale, the area I live in. Where the street grids and buildings surrounding me are knit so tightly, almost to the point of claustrophopia, the Hyde Park section of town feels like Clifton or Northside in Cincinnati. There was a familiarity to the layout and vibe of the area that almost made me feel like I was back where I came from, that I might once again be on my way to Shake-It, the Esquire or Highland Coffee House. It was a welcome feeling, that there was an element to this place that held a recognizability to it, that it wasn’t completely foreign.
I like where I’m located too, though. It’s about 5 miles from Downtown, there’s a bunch of places (a neat little coffee house, conveniance store, gas station, and corner bar) all within minutes of walking distance from my door. The streets are narrow but clean, and the houses lining them have a neatly kept uniformity to them. Walk two blocks though, and you will find yourself in a completely different neighborhood, where one house is aesthetically divorced from the adjoining resident by a thin strip of concrete. This kind of geographical catagorization is definitely part of the culture shock I’m experiencing.
The house I’m in is perfectly proportioned to the needs of the 4 people living in it. The kitchen, living room and full basement are roomy and comfortable. The four bedrooms are spaced nicely apart. To finish out the miscellany, there’s a small deck, two full bathrooms, hook ups for a washer and dryer (that I hope we can get soon. If I can avoid paying for laundry, you better know I will), and enough free street and lot parking for our cars.
So I guess that’s as much of the physical snapshot I can translate over for now. It’s a bit broad, but I’ve rambled and there’s plenty of time for more depth later. I think I’ll close this post out by briefly sorting out my feelings on the whole thing. In talking to dozens of people over the last few months about the wheres, whys, whos and hows of the move, I definitely got to the point where there were certain answers I was emphasizing over others. I felt led to commit by God through feelings, personal goals and ambitions, shifting circumstances, and earnest invitations by Jake and Tim to join them out here, among a myriad of other things. At this moment, I’m at a loss as to how to absorb the passage of time and discovery of self that this life is weaved of. The intricacy of this existential tapestry, set against the backdrop of utter displacement, is plummeting through me. And I feel like I can only speak in abstractions right now because I’m feeling so abstract. That will pass, I will find my bearings, and the journey to flatter ground will be an exciting, invaluable experience to call my own. Until then, it’s April 13, 2009, at 2:12pm Central.
This served as the bulk of my reaction over the last 2 days. The next post should lend itself more to coherency.
Peace.
Straight out the womb
That pretty much sums up my experience here in Chicago over the last 24 hours. After 23 years in the status quo condition of Southwest Ohio, I have crossed over the proverbial tracks into the concrete jungle. The initial feelings are not what I anticipated them to be. I definitely had a certain naivety in how simple my expectations were for the transition, and I think a lot of that had to do with the fact that I had never stepped foot in the city before. If it had been Austin or even Savannah, I would have at least had a point of reference to draw from, having spent time in those cities before. Chicago is a beast of another color, shape, size and quality. I’ve never seen something this massive firsthand, and the sheer newness of this immersion is somewhat paralyzing. To bring it back to the title of this maiden post, I feel thrown into an environment totally unknown to me, where the rhythm of life is going to require significant adaptation.
All that said, I can’t wait to find my sea legs here. The prospect of knowing a city the way I knew Cincinnati is an exciting one, and though Chicago has worlds inside it that Cincy never owned, it only makes everything ahead that much more enticing. God has brought me here for reasons I will only come to know as time goes on, but the matter remains that He has accomplished this for His purpose.
I’ll be updating this blog often, to clock the evolution of this experience. It will be good to have something to write about again, at the very least.
