Moving to Chicago?
Strangest, most unsettling, and somehow best dream this morning: everyone was with me in it.
I was home (but a different home) preparing to leave in just a few hours. Family life was busy in this home, and chaotic. People were sitting around chatting and eating; it was like any other Sunday except that I would not be staying for supper. I ran around doing things - moving and going things - and noticed various of my friends in different rooms in passing. Crackers and cheese were making the rounds, TV was blaring in the background.
I heard people arguing about where I was going. Someone said it wasn't a hospitable city, someone else, from there, defended it. "Chicago takes time," she said, "but he can make it home." Someone else reported that her cousin had moved to Manhattan twenty years ago. "She's still there," she said, sounding unsure. "I guess she's happy." Baltimore was mentioned too.
I was almost ready to go and my friend Jamadeaus took a break from bonding with people she hadn't seen in years (and some new ones too), to pull me in. She held my ear close to her mouth and yelled into it:
"Where you're going can't just be about the place," she said. "It has to be about the people. Buildings and architecture are beautiful but lonely. Streets are wide and empty when you haven't walked them before. I hope you aren't going there just for the place."
Jam sounded disappointed in me and I realized she thought I should have moved to where she was, or stayed with my people at home. She thought my reasons for going were empty and that I would be lonely in the new place because of it.
I wanted to reassure her and defend myself from these worst assumptions, but I was almost out of time. I had a plane to catch and a doorstep to show up on, on the other side. Strangers were waiting for me and I didn't want to be late.
I had all my things coming with me in a pile on the floor. I looked around at my chaotic, milling family. Everyone was talking among themselves and only a few realized it was time for me to go. The lighting was bad and I hated the noisiness all around.
I picked things up and started toward the door. Some people trailed after me, looking sad and happy and earnest and confused. Flushed faces and awkward hugs. I opened the door and stepped out and rushed forward and looked back.
Every part of me was in a hurry and wanting to take my time, to see these faces and be sure that I noticed them. The bus stop was around the corner and the bus would be wheezing up at any moment. I had to be on it. I turned to go once more, and time stopped.
I realized I was going to Chicago.
Why was I going to Chicago?
I was conceived in Chicago ...
I had checked out again, I understood, just like earlier this week when I tried to exit BART with my house key. It was embarrassing: I had bought a ticket to Chicago, where I knew no one and had no reason to go; no wonder Jam was worried about me!
The date January 9 came into my head and slowly rose the surface: I start mediation training at Resolutions Northwest on January 9, in Portland. It hit me all at once, a wave of relief and laughter: I'm going to Portland, where I have friends and a place to go and something to do. I'm not going to Chicago!
I wanted to tell someone about my mistake and discovery. Jam was leaving with some friends. I put down my bags so that I could run up and tell her right away.
I was home (but a different home) preparing to leave in just a few hours. Family life was busy in this home, and chaotic. People were sitting around chatting and eating; it was like any other Sunday except that I would not be staying for supper. I ran around doing things - moving and going things - and noticed various of my friends in different rooms in passing. Crackers and cheese were making the rounds, TV was blaring in the background.
I heard people arguing about where I was going. Someone said it wasn't a hospitable city, someone else, from there, defended it. "Chicago takes time," she said, "but he can make it home." Someone else reported that her cousin had moved to Manhattan twenty years ago. "She's still there," she said, sounding unsure. "I guess she's happy." Baltimore was mentioned too.
I was almost ready to go and my friend Jamadeaus took a break from bonding with people she hadn't seen in years (and some new ones too), to pull me in. She held my ear close to her mouth and yelled into it:
"Where you're going can't just be about the place," she said. "It has to be about the people. Buildings and architecture are beautiful but lonely. Streets are wide and empty when you haven't walked them before. I hope you aren't going there just for the place."
Jam sounded disappointed in me and I realized she thought I should have moved to where she was, or stayed with my people at home. She thought my reasons for going were empty and that I would be lonely in the new place because of it.
I wanted to reassure her and defend myself from these worst assumptions, but I was almost out of time. I had a plane to catch and a doorstep to show up on, on the other side. Strangers were waiting for me and I didn't want to be late.
I had all my things coming with me in a pile on the floor. I looked around at my chaotic, milling family. Everyone was talking among themselves and only a few realized it was time for me to go. The lighting was bad and I hated the noisiness all around.
I picked things up and started toward the door. Some people trailed after me, looking sad and happy and earnest and confused. Flushed faces and awkward hugs. I opened the door and stepped out and rushed forward and looked back.
Every part of me was in a hurry and wanting to take my time, to see these faces and be sure that I noticed them. The bus stop was around the corner and the bus would be wheezing up at any moment. I had to be on it. I turned to go once more, and time stopped.
I realized I was going to Chicago.
Why was I going to Chicago?
I was conceived in Chicago ...
I had checked out again, I understood, just like earlier this week when I tried to exit BART with my house key. It was embarrassing: I had bought a ticket to Chicago, where I knew no one and had no reason to go; no wonder Jam was worried about me!
The date January 9 came into my head and slowly rose the surface: I start mediation training at Resolutions Northwest on January 9, in Portland. It hit me all at once, a wave of relief and laughter: I'm going to Portland, where I have friends and a place to go and something to do. I'm not going to Chicago!
I wanted to tell someone about my mistake and discovery. Jam was leaving with some friends. I put down my bags so that I could run up and tell her right away.