Sitting in the southwest corner of my loft, I can see the West, South and downtown Loop of Chicago as well as the trucks, palettes, and forklifts that buzz through my new neighborhood in the Fulton Market. I’ve sat here many times, writing, thinking, napping, and simply incubating ideas. It’s a stark difference from the old Irish-American neighborhood I lived in for the past few years back in Philadelphia.
I had a four story row home in an old part of Philly called Manayunk which is a Native American term for “the place to drink”, which it was appropriately named. I lived off the Schuylkill River which led through the parks of downtown Philly, past the old bars and river community into the suburbs. I felt a real connection to the natural landscape, but never felt the same for my neighbors and neighborhood. My life in Philly was completely based and enmeshed in my work and studies, leaving me with only brief moments of peace and respite.
Ten years prior to relocating to the Northeast, I lived in beautiful Charleston, South Carolina. I thought I’d only stay to finish my graduate schooling and move on, but the city had its way of alluring me to stay. So, I did just that. I lived on several beaches and mainly in downtown Charleston, which had an abundant night life and it’s share of beautiful and creative souls. In retrospect, I was a bit out of pocket in the Holy City, but I alway felt it was my home away from home.
Rewinding to seven years earlier, on my motorcycle through the Southern California mountains, and sometimes on whim, I’d take a run up to Vegas, Joshua Tree, or even the Bay area. Carefree, idealistic, and free, my time in Los Angeles defined my early post-collegiate thoughts of what it all ‘meant’ and encouraged me to always tap into my child’s heart. Although it was only home for a relatively short time (4 years), I found it hard to find any of it truly my home.
Years eariler, in post-adolescence, I was living in a large, shared home in Rock Island, Illinois. My school, Augustana College, was a walk through the woods down to a path (the slough) that led to my early education in Medicinel, much like the sludge I collected in centrifuge at the bottom of my test tubes. I was never connected to the city and it’s surroundings, but the people I knew felt familiar and real. I needed this time to reset before my ‘quest’ around the country. I always think back to old Augie with a big smile as it was truly my first time away from home.
For thirteen years prior to college, I lived on Lake Springfield and went to a then small school outside of the city called Chatham-Glenwood. I didn’t know then that I would live on both coasts and one day return to the Heartland, but I did know I had a curious, restless, and investigative spirit. I knew and ran with the same ‘kids’ from the time I was five to the time I left the nest at 17. It was comforting and, perhaps, the place I will always call my hometown.
Which brings me all back to my earliest memories living in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I lived in the city with my four older siblings and parents from birth to five years. I recall puffy snowsuits, mountains of precipitation, treehouses, sleds, and lakes everywhere. Most of my memories are likely created from the pictures I’ve seen of my family and our homes in Minneapolis. Only some of them, I know for sure occurred. Years later, we made trips to all the different homes to reminisce on the ‘early years,’ the ones experiences directly after my parent’s moved to America. One of the houses my family was most proud of was in an architectural digest. It was also my favorite, largely because of the sunken living room where I’d sit for hours.
In retrospect, as I sit in my corner easy chair, I smile at all the different experiences I’ve been fortunate enough to have. I can now laugh at the struggles and champion the challenges. Being ‘home’ again is truly a carthartic feeling as I know for sure that I set out to simply live and experience. After nearly 15 years away, I’m glad to be home.
