Waiting for the Sun

I've been hesitant to come here and write about anything personal, as is my typical nature. All of these photos come from some place not-so buried, and I have utilized this blog to house some pretty dense emotion. I take full responsibility for that. It is my purpose and my constant desire to externalize the internal, but for so many reasons, this blog seems both incredibly necessary (for me) and difficult to write.

I will say that on the inside, I am caught somewhere in between paralyzing heartbreak and overwhelming gratitude. On the outside, I have little choice but to persevere, occupy my hands and head, keep talking, smiling, avoiding hazardous material. Chicago has presented a multitude of personal challenges for me; the past three weeks have been the most challenging of a lifetime. I almost lost someone incredibly precious to me. What can I say? -- The world, and I, would not be the same. I cannot think of all the what-ifs without dissolving into an onslaught of tears and conflicting emotions.

I hadn't really stopped to consider the force of life... or the instance in which it can cease. Maybe it seems like we get to have a say in these sorts of affairs... but no matter the amount we take into our own hands, armored and bulletproof, some things are just out of our reach. For these reasons and more, it has been a challenge for me to look at my own life in the same fashion. My mind, for the month of April, has been racing, filled with perplexing thoughts that make my stomach tense up and my head ache in exhaustion.

The truth is, for the past ten months, I have lived in this city, and I haven't really known why. I've asked all of the cliche questions. For the past nine months, I have gotten up and gone to work downtown. I ride the train by myself and I listen to rock and roll music and I think about my day, my dreams, my family, my bank account, what I'm going to have for dinner. For the past six months I have been wildly, confusingly, and painfully in-love. No matter the repetitious drone of your life, love interrupts.

Loving someone is not enough to fix all the broken parts. I have confused this notion with believing that I am not enough. I hope that I was, that I am, that I will be. This is my nervous confession, sent out into cyberspace. I'm not sure what good it does.

I went to church service with Carrie. I'm not a deeply religious person, but the opportunity to go seemed like one I could not pass up in my current condition. The message of Easter seems to be that no matter the detriment, beautiful miracles are possible, and hope is worth it. So, I fill myself with hope leaving my apartment today. I hope for renewal and strength and the patience to endure the days that are filled with rain and darkness so that I can truly appreciate the sunshine when it finally comes.

And I hope this, of course, not only for myself.

Be strong, dear.

Life Is Very Long When You're Lonely

We All Feel Better in the Dark

Careful, Careful

I've never met your mother, but I hear she's lovely. Two generous hands to scoop you up off your feet and remind you that you're beautiful. Never tired of the dirty laundry. Never tired of day-time television. It's not a crime to kiss your cheek, and you're never too old for lullabies. I put on a pot of coffee so I can evaluate your day. Put on a jacket to avoid bacteria. Put on your dress shoes because we're going to church. Put down the candy bar, the action figure, the television controller, the blinds so the neighbors can't see inside. I'm tired today. I got up early, fell asleep late, and missed all of your phone calls home. I ate Kraft dinner and ignored the day-old dishes. Wipe your feet at the door. I'll wait for you to fill me in.

Train Chicago Grand Opening

I am continuously put into situations that make me feel awkward and/or ashamed for not working out and/or fitting in.

Moran and Trica

Touching From a Distance

My Valentine's Day present was a ticket to the Sky Deck in Willis (*cough* Sears) Tower. I've worked directly across from this building for seven months now and, until last week, I'd only ventured in once or twice to use the post office.

There are few gifts more romantic than one that involves looking out onto the shimmering city through the windows of the fifth-tallest freestanding structure in the world.

Half Light

Strange how the half light
Can make a place new
You can't recognize me
And I can't recognize you
- Arcade Fire

Hairdresser on Fire

Delicate

Last Friday, my grandma watched her dog Heidi slump to the floor in her last few seconds of life. My grandma called my dad. After a drive to the veterinarian, they both sat in the car, immobilized, crying together.

This city was hit with a tremendous wall of white powder last week. When the snow melts, everything neglected will be revealed. I forgot what spring feels like, but I try not to complain; I am thankful for the seasons. I am thankful for the differences.

When I was little, I was comforted by the warm little light emitted by my dad's lit cigarette. A cheerful red ember would bounce up and down in the dark as he climbed the stairs after me, chasing me to bed. When he calls me now, we talk about rock and roll and football and the weather. Over the years, I've wasted too much energy convincing him to quit smoking.

In the past two months, I've come to accept that my maternal grandfather will soon die of cancer. I called him yesterday -- the first time I've reached out since finding out that he was dying. We had a one-minute-long conversation. He told me to take care of myself and enjoy my life, and then he hurried himself off the line.

I am dating a boy with Crohn's disease. At 27, he drinks Ensure and eats Gerber baby food and it secretly breaks my heart to pieces. Occasionally, to my delight, he indulges in deep-fried greasy garbage like pizza and hot dogs and french fries and bacon. I am not disappointed. We celebrate the victory of successful digestion. I've stopped taking my stomach -- and my youth -- for granted.

I keep different hours every day. Sometimes I sit on the train at 5 AM, achey and resentful, staring blankly out the windows at the dark morning backdrop. My feet and hands are like concrete until I step off the platform and scurry my way into work. Sometimes I run so fast to catch the train at 11 AM that I forget to notice the rare gleaming sunshine or the same homeless man by the newspaper stands. Sometimes I exit the train at 9 PM and a flood of anxiety washes over me; I hate walking home alone at night. On a good day I am home before 7. On a good day I have dinner plans before 6.

The human body is a well-oiled machine. The human soul anticipates rust. We are a delicate collection of bones and blood, and last week was a bad week for everyone I love. I nestled into my covers and slept almost twenty hours straight; it seemed no amount of pastries or cartoons could rebuild my immunities upon waking, but somehow, I've made it here to tell myself this: don't break down just yet.

Winter Is a Slow Slumber

(archived photo)

Pinching Pennies

Bargain shopping in Albany Park with expert store explorer Julie Shapiro. Nothing extraordinary visually, I realize... just trying to dust off my camera and de-rust my idle hands a bit after months of inactivity. I could blame it on a series of unfortunate events that have left me swimming in stress, but I won't. I've just been re-evaluating, and I got a little lazy in the process. Here's to a new year with hopefully more freelance opportunities. Thanks to Time Out for paying me to skip around a dollar store all Saturday afternoon.

Let's Get Lost

I've been outside
Invited in
But I couldn't abide
Wouldn't miss it again
Burning every bridge that I cross
To find some beautiful place to get lost
I had true love
I made it die
I pushed her away
She said please stay
Burning every bridge that I cross
To find some beautiful place to get lost
To find some beautiful place to get lost
Well I don't know where I'll go now
And I don't really care who follows me there
But I'll burn every bridge that I cross
And find some beautiful place to get lost
And find some beautiful place to get lost
- Elliott Smith

Wasteland

When Love Comes to Town

The holidays present the rare but welcomed opportunity to see my big sister Shannon. As the years have gone by, I've seen less and less of her. After flourishing as an undergraduate writer, she ventured to California to complete her Master's degree in creative writing. Sadly, I never took advantage of her temporary presence out West. She recently moved back to Ohio, but I have, of course, since been displaced in Chicago. It seems that our geography hasn't matched up since I was in high school. I suppose I could take this opportunity to become extremely sentimental. My sister has been my best friend my entire life; no doubt this will never change, despite the miles between us or the milestones paving our separate and succinct paths. This blog entry is sounding a little mushy and trite. I cannot muster the perfect string of words to adequately describe my love, admiration, and gratitude for my sister (she is much more equipped). And, I cannot believe that it has taken me so long to take her picture. But then again, the past few years have plagued me with a selfish sort of tunnel vision, and maybe I am still suffering from this crippling blindness. (Refer to the portraits of my parents that are only just now surfacing, after I've been fairly diligent about photographing what's near and dear to me for the past four years.) Christmas at home this year was one of the most humbling holidays I've shared with my family. Despite the rapid whirl (and, at times, what feels like the stagnant slump) of my young adult life, they have my heart.

Trouble Loves Me

Blue Sunday

I am often convinced that I can only produce a well-constructed series of words on occasion. I was reading my friend Ellee's online journal this morning, and in my response to her holiday-inspired sentiments on love and life, I was able to accurately pin-point my own feelings for the first time in months. I responded to her musings with, in essence, the following confession:

Lately, I have found myself confused, sensitive, needy, defensive, compulsive, and impatient. Lately, I have found myself fond, hopeful, relaxed, reflective, comforted, and protected. Some days I struggle to find inspiration in my fixed routine, working over 40 hours a week, explaining the health benefits of quinoa and Kombucha and almond milk to young and fit and attractive investment bankers who regard me with the utmost indifference because I am behind a counter in a brown hat and an apron, and they have company money to dispense on overpriced lunches and dinners. And they have security and companionship in it. Nevermind that I have a college education, a refreshing sense of humor, perfect posture, a fantastic memory, zero cavities, and just as many hopes and dreams and aspirations. I want to remain focused on the positive with my hands submerged in soapy water, dry and cracking from the scrubbing, the bleaching, the blending and tossing and chopping and grilling, and the perpetual exchange of American Express cards. I wonder where the time has gone. I’ve lived here for 6 months now and I still have no idea what I ultimately want to be doing. I am not unhappy, just uncertain.

In the end, it has taken little self-reflection to reveal my biggest flaw: a persistent tendency to look for problems.

It's Sunday, my day of the week to recuperate and relinquish the bad energy that has accumulated during the course of the week. This blog entry serves many purposes, and it's been awhile since I've really utilized the strength of my own voice. I am 23 years old. I support myself in one of the largest cities in the United States. I have a loving family in Ohio, wonderful friends far and wide, and a job that sustains my belly, my bank account, and my loving heart (and refer once more to my loving family and wonderful friends). I am still wandering around this big city, my eyes bright and shiny and full of wonder. It's the holiday season, so as is customary of this time, I am trying ever so earnestly to count my blessings. I am trying to be patient. I am trying to let my life happen without feeling like time is slipping away from me. I am trying to enjoy sleeping in when I can, photographing a beautiful face when I can, taking a bubble bath when I can, eating leftover chocolate cake when I can, and falling in love when I am.

I'm a Roman Candle, My Head Is Full of Flames

Mom and Dad

Thanksgiving Rain