I really wanted to love Chicago, I really did. I always had dreams about living in a big city that never sleeps and being able to access all the art museums and listen to live music. I wanted to be able to immerse myself in the culture I had longed to be a part of for years. Coming from a town that shut down at seven o’clock, I longed to be able to stay out past the sun and finding a grocery store with more than one brand of cheese.
I knew I needed to save more money than I thought I needed and probably needed to upgrade my closet. Clothes that made up my wardrobe of small-town life probably wouldn’t go over so well when I really wanted to be taken seriously and seen as a sophisticated professional. After years of planning, saving and reorganizing, I was finally getting on the plane with my carryon so I could find a place to live in Chicago.
The butterflies in my stomach intensified as the plane lifted off. Was I making the right decision? Was I too ambitious in getting rid of most of my possessions and foregoing a new lease on my apartment? I could only hope I was making the right decision.
I knew the moment I got off the plane that it was all a mistake. Maybe I should have visited before making this big life decision. Chicago was too damn cold for anything.