I've been considering revising this blog, or creating a new one. It's been on mind mind, since I started it a year ago. I've wanted a more honest blog, a more open blog, but that comes with consequences.

I've been reading Birdykins and have been feeling more and more jealous. What draws her readers in, is her pure and honest posts. I have this capability, if I wasn't so fucking scared.

I'm finding that I hate coming here. I sit down and want to write about it, but I won't because I can't.

I've been writing more "real" pieces, but cannot pull the trigger on posting them. Sometimes I will post them for two minutes and take them back down. I'm just tired of writing about my job, my classes, my meals and my other daily boring activities, when life is happening. This had initially been a blog about my experiences in Chicago, and I'm pulling away.

Life is a mirror.

Last year, I wrote a blog about Mr. South Korea Teacher. It has been hands down, one of the most honest things I wrote here. When I wrote it, I had a moment of thinking, I don't care who reads this, I don't care if he reads this. It's real. What I wrote, wasn't for him and wasn't for you, it was for me. I was vulnerable for a brief second.

I confuse vulnerability with a lack of confidence. I want to be vulnerable, but there is such a fine line (from my thinking) between the two. I haven't fully understood it yet, because I never let myself feel that way, even though I want to.

And the reason I haven't been forthcoming with anything is because I am so afraid. I try to walk through life with a confidence that I have not found in my writing yet. I hate being wishy washy about my writing. I hate that I keep writing at a distance.

I try to tell myself lately, nothing you say or do will actually make a difference, nothing you write here will change anything about the situation, so why not be honest about it.

But what holds me back, is weakness. I'm so stuck on maintaining composure, that many times I lose a sense of emotion. I adhere too tightly to the narcissism my Dad passed down to me, and the stoicism my mother ingrained in me, and the hardened person I strive to be. Some days, rare days, when I am overtaken by any "feeling", whether it be sadness, anger, guilt, happiness, when I have a surge of creative momentum, I take advantage of it, it lasts momentarily before I put those feelings aside.

What good are writers without the emotion you can pour into words? How can I really even evolve, without being myself here?

I'm at a crossroads here. Life is changing for me. I want my writing to change as well. I have to remind myself, nothing I say here will change how things are.

Iowa, I'm looking forward to being cradled in your arms in just a handful of days. I can't wait to tuck myself away on the acreage, sit on the cabin porch. I'm ready for horseback riding and searching for farm kittens. I'm ready for late night beers with friends, parked somewhere off a dirt road, and seeing stars that I haven't seen in ages. I'm ready for the quiet. I'm ready for the sweet corn, my Mom's garden cucumbers and tomatoes. I'm ready to wake to church bells. I'm ready to see my girls. I'm ready to see my Grandma. I'm ready for the distance, between there and Chicago, the distance I need for a moment. I'm ready.

I'm agonizing over a trip away from the city.

I had a conversation with one of my girlfriends today. A couple of months ago she went to New York and L.A. to take a step back, to get out of Chicago, and see herself from a completely new perspective. She gained some clarity, some insight, just through distance and through the loss of routine.

Clarity, come to me.

I read a book about this guy who couldn't find his voice. Nothing he had etched out onto paper seemed good enough for his fingers. He sat at his desk and stared at the blank sheet, pen in hand, and frozen for two solid hours each day. He decided to remove himself from his environment. He went back home, staked out a spot in his parent's old farmhouse and wrote until his calloused fingers could no longer hold the weight of his pen. Consciousness seemed sudden, seemed to come from the space hidden between destinations.

Consciousness, be eminent.

A friend told me about an acquaintance, a budding young artist, who couldn't see past his own limitations. The world too chaotic, the environment not softened enough for his talent. One night he made a run for it, he slipped out and held himself up in a convent for over two months. He nestled himself amongst the white and black habits, in confinement, a solitary room with only a bed and simple linens. The silence, the stillness, the grace, the contemplation, embodied and enfolded him to the point of release. Brilliance flooded out in steady worded increments.

Contemplation, be my guide.

And where do I find my own destination? Does it lie in the rogue deserts of the south, the grittiness of a bruised city, or a sullen hilltop overlooking green waters, or is it still here, right here, right in this moment? Maybe it isn't the place, but maybe it is the space. It's not the distance measured in land, but the distance between reality and truth, what is and what isn't.

Maybe it's the moment of clarity, when consciousness and contemplation unite.

"You were better to the ones that were worse for you. And worse to the one that was better for you."


So simple and yet, so true.

I’m writing more. I feel back to normal again. I feel creative again. I would love to describe for you the downfall of my self-esteem, after working for and leaving the business that I cannot name, but it’s all so trivial now, and I don’t want to dredge up what took me months to get over. I feel good. I feel great. I feel amazing.

I walked to work and felt rather reflective today. Some days I pay little attention to the Sears Tower. Other days I stare in awe, whisper to myself, I can’t believe I live here.

The novelty of it all has yet to wear off, still, two years later. Who knew that you could ever fall in love with a city? Who knew that I would fall in love with this city?

Last year, Mori and I were driving around the Chicago. We wound up on a dead end street somewhere near an old steel dump. Mobs of homeless men and women had filled grocery carts to the rim with scrap metal that they had found in the alley ways of the grimy Chicago streets. We parked the car for a moment and briefly watched as the road became a traffic jam with loaded grocery carts and the filth covered bums who would come to the area to exchange steel for a small amount of cash. Our attention moved quickly to the sidewalk where two men hoisted up a large bottle of dark syrup, some kind of rum, and poured it down a woman’s throat. The image was too spectacular for words. The look on her face, her head held high, and her arms outstretched to grasp the bottle; I can only compare it to a dehydrated child in desperate need for thirst. Mori and I looked at each other and wished one of us had a camera. It was one of the most beautiful images I have ever seen in my life. That will stay implanted in my memory forever.

And while that image will become burned in my brain, another moment from last year will become entrenched in my emotions. I remember what I was wearing, down the pink underwear I had on that night. I remember what drink I had in my hand. I remember every step I took. I remember how I parted my hair. I remember nearly every word that came out of everyone’s mouth that night. I remember where I stood and how I stood. If there was a night that you can be in love with, this is it. It’s not very often that people get to meet someone they adore. It’s not very often that the voice you hear on that repetitious song you play over and over, stands next to you and buys you a drink. It’s not very often that you get to hang out with someone whose lyrics can make you drop to your knees. Meeting Andrew McMahon, was one of the best moments of my life. Hands down.

Last year was full of new experiences. I have never lived with a girl before. I have never had a female roomie, but when Mori moved back to Chicago I was happy to take her in. It was probably one of the best series of months in my life. So many weird, awkward, and fun times that we decided we could write a comedy series based upon it. Two border line opposite personalities: Mori with her empathetic heart, and me with my soulless little heart; Mori and her creative mind, and me a little too logical; Mori a homebody, and me who needs to be social…. My apartment was never the same after she left it for her own apartment… a block away.

Last year, was good moment, after good moment, after incredibly good moment… but it also came with heart break. Losing my Uncle was an unexpected tragedy. Staying in a job that I was unhappy in, and then eventually losing it, destroyed my self esteem, all of it. These were the lowest points. These low points gave me a new perspective, and ushered in some positive changes.

Out of all the things I have learned last year, this one thing has stuck with me the most: “you get out what you put in”. I have heard this quote a million times, but have never applied it to myself. Life is a mirror.

Chicago, you are my reflection. You have been hard on me at times, but have loved me more often than I can count.

I am unequivocally and unconditionally in love with you, as long as you don’t boot my car again.

It's the anniversary of my second year here in Chicago, bitches. Usually this is a time of reflection and careful plans for the future. I'll skip that for now and wait until I'm in the reflection mood. Last year was amazing and I loved every second of it. Excited for what's in store for me this coming year...

I found out this week that I get hired on permanently the third week of this month. I'm also going to work on getting my Broker's license in April. They made this new rule where they are completely eliminating sales licensing, all agents are required to hold broker's licenses. What doe this really mean? Basically, more difficult tests and higher dues. At least I will have that under my belt.

I've been so busy this last week. I need more time at the end of my day, trying to keep up with social obligations and personal obligations and also, trying to cram everything in a weekend, is difficult. I'm all TGIF, lately.

Speaking of social obligations... The other night I strolled over to Lincoln Square to have some after-work drinks with some friends. We (they) sat around telling sex war stories. I find it amazing that so many dudes have had a "gay experience". I do not have this. I must say, I have never kissed or snuggled with a girl. I've just never been in that situation, but apparently, a lot of guys have.  I find this crazy. Ah, I love friends, what a great night.

Also why I love my friends... "Did you get a makeover?" Me: "Ummm, no." "You look great!" The only thing I'm doing differently, is increasing my intake of coffee and eating more junk food and spending more money on myself. Yay, life!

The apartment above me is available. I'm dying to move. I have just been dragging my feet on it and I don't know why. I'm so desperate to get out of my apartment, yet, I just can't pull the trigger. My intuition is telling me not to do it. Something else will come along. I just don't know how much longer I can stay in it, before I want to ax myself. I am such a creature of habit, and sometimes making changes is hard for me. I'm really stubborn, ask me mum.

Sorry this is all so random.... I finally was able to get to bed early last night. I feel like I have so much energy.