One year ago I made the transition from country to city. Where I’m from, the stars come out at night. “Neighbors” are a mile down the road. Saturday night might include a trip to the cinema. Life is slower, and we play cards on the weekend. My mom wears a red apron and bakes in the kitchen with the windows open and oldies on the radio. I grew up running barefoot in the backyard next to wheat fields as far as the eye could see. I would squat in the bushes to pee so I wouldn’t have to waste time inside. Life was about harvest, Friday night football, and the prayer requests on the kitchen counter, lifelong friends and borrowing eggs from neighbors.
I’m not saying it was all peaches. There are fatal car accidents on country roads, gossipy grandmas, closed-minded conversations and such. Nonetheless, I’m happy to have Kansas as my base.
In the Windy City, the skyscrapers come alive. There are people to meet of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds. An endless supply of friendships. There are new neighborhoods to explore. Bike, walk, CTA. Take your pick and let’s ride to someplace new. A back alley bar or tiny taqueria. Stay up late at a blues bar. Wake up early for a run with the sun on the lake. It’s all an adventure.
But not always a day at the park. Sometimes buses are late. It’s awkward to talk to your upstairs neighbor about anything but the weather. Friends don’t call you back.
The difference between Kansas and Chicago?
Tornadoes.
Photo by Dustin Whitehead. Words by Sadie Myers.
