Because this is where you are.

It's no secret that I've tired of city life.

The freedom and newness and possibility that enveloped me upon my arrival has, over the past two years, given way to inconveniences, grind, and cramp.

It culminated a few months back, when I came down with the flu just as Henley picked up a bug from, one can only guess, the back alley. Days of diarrhea and vomiting on her part gave way to a very scary reality: It was Sunday, a day when all normal vets are closed, she was refusing food for the third day and couldn't keep water down, I had a fever and no car, and the nearest emergency vet--bound to cost hundreds if not thousands of dollars--was 2 miles away. And it was freezing and snowing, because of course.

As the saying goes, FML.

--

I spend a lot of time going back and forth between two camps:

• This city doesn't suit your ideal lifestyle and you need to take care of that ASAP
• You are really lucky and you need to recognize that and not take it for granted

So basically I've spent a lot of time beating myself up.

"Why do I live here?" has become a pretty constant refrain, both in the "why the fuck do I live somewhere where it hurts my face to walk down the street??!!" kind of immediate way and also in the "but no really, why? What's keeping me here?" It gets existential pretty quickly.

Answers range from "because it's 6 hours from your family" and "because you have a great job and why would you risk leaving" and "because it would cost a couple grand to relocate" and "because I'm scared that I don't have it in me to start all over once again".

The other day on the bus home, I found myself silently asking that familiar question. I looked out at the lake, a daily commute ritual that calms me and reminds me of home, and a new answer appeared: You live here because this is where you are.

You are here because this is where you are.

It's as simple as that. This is where I am in life. It's not where I'll always be, and the mysteries behind that will unveil themselves in good time. But for right now I live here because this is where I am.

And that's...satisfactory. It doesn't feel like a question anymore. It hasn't crossed my mind since.

I live here because this is where I am.

You guys, I am nowhere close to being a Zen Buddhist Priest, but I am so much closer than I ever thought I'd be.

Resolving, Revisited

So, you guys, I didn't really start the bright and shiny new year out on a real...bright and shiny note.

Truth be told, I was a little bit wompy. A little bit homesick. A little bit in my head.

I realize this is grounds for having my Yooper Card revoked, but Chicago is damn cold in the wintertime. More than that, it's really harsh.

It's a far cry from the homeowner-with-a-big-backyard and a remote-starter-on-the-trusty-Jeep lifestyle I was living in Michigan. Henley needs to pee. And experience a life other than the apartment we live in. And that requires layers upon layers of clothing for me and many, many treks in the great windy city. At all times of the day and night. #whinewithyourcheese? Add to that the fact that I just gave up my car and need to brave the cold and wind any time I go somewhere for anything....

Needless to say, I had a little bit of a hard time adjusting from 17 days home over two stretches in a 40-day period. It was a rough week, and an especially rough morning this morning. There were a lot of tears, and some of the frozen, wind-smacked sort. (You're allowed to call me a baby. I own it.)

Some gym time, some quiet time, and some conversations with some of my nearest and dearests helped me sort it all out and I'm feeling back to my normal self. My crush on Chicago has resurfaced.

But what I really want to tell you about is Henley. #duh.

I came home a few minutes ago from a completely impromptu soul-warming and bolstering night with one of my nearest and dearest Chicago friends, Whitney. I prepared to let Henley out, per usual, but at the last minute decided to let her take a toy out to the alley where she does her business.

We have snow out there. Not Michigan-quantity snow, but snow. It's not a plowed alley--we trudge, there is slop.

I threw the toy for her several times--maybe 20?--but the last time, it got lodged somewhere in the snowbank. I stayed where I was, nuzzled in my NorthFace, letting her sniff and search, trying to find it.

You guys, her tail was wagging the whole damn time. Like it was the best moment of her day, trying to find that damn toy in the wet, soupy snow. She circled, she perched, she dug, she rolled. She wagged.

That's my New Year's resolution. To be happy while searching. To be so damn joyful about how much promise there is in this fucking cold, snowy city, no matter whether I'm sure I'm going to find the prize here or not.

Silver & Gold

I'm sort of a broken record, I realize, but life really...hits me when I'm at the intersection of the new and the old, or the good and the bad, or the progressive and the familiar. It's like I get hyper-aware during periods of change--of everything, the challenges, the blessings.

The past two weeks are a great example. I've been a stress case, walking around with a mental to-do list on my shoulders that felt like I was piggy-backing an elephant. A thousand worries: Did I remember to switch that utility? How will Henley adjust to living in an apartment complex? Did I save enough money to get the apartment in reasonably sufficient living condition without eating ramen at the end of the month? Is selling my car really the right decision? Is anything ever the right decision? 

I can go from task to existential crisis in no time flat.

On the other hand, there is so much good happening: I'm so so excited to settle in, to decorate, to explore a new area, to have a place large enough to entertain friends.

Change, change, change. We all know I don't adjust easily. It takes me some time. It puts me off my axis.

Which is how I know it's time to kick into gratitude mode. A good friend of mine (Hi Leece!) once told me in a moment of anxiety: You are loved and surrounded and safe, my dear. (I'm paraphrasing; she always writes these poetic emails that are a little bit like Xanax in your inbox. The original message was probably much more beautiful.) It's my go-to reminder in a stressful situation. Your life might be in boxes, your dog might be barking at every new shadow, your mail may or may not make it to you for another week, you might not be able to cook for a week because you forgot to call the gas company (ooooops!), but you are loved and you are surrounded and you are safe.

Source

One of the most precious things about moving to Chicago is that it has given me a chance to both reconnect with some of my oldest friends in the world while also making countless new connections. I've been blessed with some wonderful coworkers-turned-fast-friends, friends of old friends and friends of new friends. (Reminder: Wonderful things happen when you just relax and let people in, Bobbi.)

I'm thankful today for friends both new and old: For physically helping me move (it makes my heart so happy that it was my one of my newest friends, Whitney, and one of my oldest friends, Eric, that helped me move), for helping me strategize the decor, for helping me figure out the logistics of moving in the city, for patiently waiting it out while Meltdown Barbie was in town, for sending their love and support from afar, and for being raring and ready to celebrate with me when all is said and unpacked.

They say that illness, changing jobs, moving and dealing with a death of a loved one are among the most stressful life events one can face. I've dealt with all four in the last year of my life, and I am here to report that with a stellar support system, you can come out the other side happy and healthy.

From HI to CO, from MI and WI and MN to IL, I feel loved and surrounded and safe. Big love to all my silver and gold. You're my rocks.

Settling, The Good Kind

After almost seven months without 85% of my belongings, I will be moving into a permanent apartment this weekend (!!!!!!!). Since I'm moving on a holiday weekend, I got the keys a little bit early and did a walk through yesterday after work. I met the maintenance guy, who showed me in and gave me the run-down. 

When he left, I thanked him, shut the door, sat in the middle of my new living room floor, and promptly bawled my eyes out.

I wiped snot from my nose and felt ridiculous and childish--but also relieved. Because of the quick turnaround time of my move and because it's damn near impossible to find apartments that allow dogs the size of small horses, I took a four-month furnished sublet that turned into a seven-month furnished sublet, arriving with one Jeep-load of belongings. In the recent months, I have been ashamed by how much living in a sublet with other people's things was wearing on me. Every time I mentioned it to anyone, they'd shrug and say something like, "Yeah, but you have everything you need, right? What's missing?"

Which sounded rational, sure. After all, I've had a *furnished* apartment--a really nice one, actually. I've had a place to stretch after my runs, and a hot shower to use after yoga class. I've had a place for Henley to look out the window, and even an alley contained enough to throw a ball in. I've had a place to read, a place to sleep, a place to write, a place to binge watch TV on my laptop. I've had internet, AC, kind neighbors to let me in when I locked myself out during my first week in town. What's missing?, indeed.

I learned over these last seven months just what I can do without. I can do without an oven--the sublet had a gas stove and I never did muster the courage to try to light it. I can do without a dishwasher--this one just didn't get my smoothie glasses clean. I can do without my mixer, my serving platters and my kombucha supplies--though I did nab my juicer the last time I was home. I can even do without any semblance of my own sense of organization in terms of closet set up--though the shoe rack in the front closet nearly got tossed into the street a few times.

But I need a frame wall filled with pictures of my people. I need the hodge podge of art and trinkets I've collected on my travels to remind me how big the world is. I need the odd rummage sale dishes that make me smile with their quirks and wonder about their history. I need to be surrounded by a vibrant storm of colors--my colors--that reflect back to me what I want to look out for in this world.

What was missing were the things that make me feel like I'm home. What was missing were the things that make me feel like Bobbi. And, perhaps most pressing, what was missing was the courage to acknowledge that I have been yearning to carry those things with me into this new world, even if I couldn't yet articulate why.

I need the framed letter my mom wrote me when I was 17, the one that proves on paper that no one knows or loves me more than my family. I need a damn shoe rack that actually fits all of my flipping shoes, and I need the most beautiful Bobbi-colored blanket that my dear friend Krista got me for Christmas one year in college--it is itchy in the most beautiful and familiar way. I need my fancy throw pillows because they make me feel like a princess, and I need the journals of mistakes past because they remind me that I am human.

My girl's got her choice of windows, to be sure.

Sometimes I think the only way I learn about myself in any progressive way is when I look back on a particularly cringe-worthy meltdown and ask myself, "What the $@*! was that about?"

Sure, that was the relief after weeks of dealing with the dozens of annoyances and tasks that come with moving addresses, starting and stopping utilities, and coordinating a move in the city.

But if I really ask myself what was at the core of those tears, that was about needing my roots even when I'm flying high on my wings. That was the result of pushing down my feelings and not acknowledging them as valid.  That was about finally admitting that I have not, for one second of the last seven months, felt truly settled... until I was again, covered in snot on a empty living room floor. My empty living room floor.

Bobbi Lately

I've been feeling lately that I'm living more in the moment, which is the goal I've been working toward. But it makes it hard to reflect, here, on this website, built for reflecting. The two areas of my life--work and relationships--that I avoid here are the areas I've been focusing on, and I don't know how to write publicly about them (and I'm not sure that I even want to at all).

But I still want to capture snapshots of this time in my life. It's a time I fought hard for, and a time I am savoring. It's delivering a host of lessons, as always, but I may have to let some time pass and do some thinking about how, and if, I want to document them. For now, here's the minutiae, the filler, the distractions, the lately:

• Lately, I've been drinking coffee. Which basically means that I've essentially had a buzz on  during my waking hours since Tuesday. But my real confession is that I think it makes me a better person, and I sort of hate how much better I feel on the sauce. I aspire to be a "green juice gives me so much energy!" person, but right now, I'm a "they make almond milk creamers, right?" person. Never mind that I can't feel the inside of my mouth--I'm tearing through my project load, gangbusters-style.

• I kind of had an epiphany on the train:

Awww, Baby's First Sports Metaphor

• Lately, I've been itching to get out of my current sublet and into my new apartment. I can't wait to have my things and feel settled, and oddly enough, put down some roots in Chicago. Have I mentioned how psyched I am to decorate?

• I've been on a mission to try every fish taco in Chicago. Which gets, you know, expensive, so I've been trying to develop my personal best taco recipe. I've been failing, but failure can be pretty delicious, too. 

If drowning my failures in sriracha is wrong, I don't want to be right.

• I've been obsessed with The Newsroom and Orange in the New Black.

• I've been whole-heartedly enjoying my Chicago summer. Street fests, late night martinis and tarot card readings on a bar patio with new friends, reading in the park, figuring out what the hell to do with my CSA veggies. My soul is a happy soul.

Extremes

For a recovering control freak, I've been dealing pretty well with all the newness in my life. I'm new to the city, I'm in a new apartment, I'm new to my job, and I'm new to the subject matter that I'm writing about at my job. Not only that, but I work downtown (easy-peasy)...but will have to navigate my way down to our campus by bus, car, train, cab, you name it. It's all a lot of... new.

Which has been really great, actually, except the time that I got on a south-bound bus when I was already on the south side. And the time that I held up a line of people getting on to the northbound bus I should have been on in the first place by trying to put my CTA card in the cash slot. There have been a dozen humbling experiences like this over the past week, but also some pretty awesome wins. Aside from the bus mishap, I managed to navigate my way down to campus on my first try and make all my meetings on time. Things are starting to come together in terms of, oh, knowing how the heck to even get into work, which is basically Fort Knox with all its locked doors and maze-like cubicles. And Henley, knock on wood, is happy and secure at home, behaves for her dog walker, and hasn't touched a thing in the apartment in my absence. Highs and lows, wins and near-misses.

Which brings me to my public transportation experiences today. I spent about 4 hours of my day in transit to and from work and meetings. In those four hours I witnessed:

• a drunk man who sat behind me on the bus, grunting and occasionally touching the ends of my hair (No, I could not get up and move, trustmetrustmetrustme, that bus was packed; and yes, I took a hot shower the moment I got home)
• an elderly woman whispering sweetly to her husband, a Korean war vet, who clearly had dementia and was agitated, assuring him that their stop was coming up soon....for 12 stops straight
• a sorority-girl (Phi Beta something) in her mid-20s who clicked her retainer in and out of her mouth while making disturbing faces at her self in the train window...for 12 stops straight
• a group of 12-ish-year-old girls who were gawking and giggling at a 40-ish-year-old woman on a subway platform whose skirt was stuck up in the back of her jacket...and one 12-ish-year-old girl who kindly tapped her on the shoulder and told her
• a woman with orange dreads and a studded leather jacket screaming at J.Crew customer service reps for 35 minutes
• a 7-ish-year-old boy bashfully give up his seat for a 10-ish-year-old girl (do these kids not have school?!)

Chicago, something tells me you make the good great and the weird even weirder.

Landing

Last summer, I traveled downstate to a yoga retreat center outside of Gaylord to visit my friend Allison's sister, Angie. Angie was working as a cook--among other things. The center was actually a beautiful community--a retreat center, yes, but home to many who live in the surrounding woods or travel once a month to recharge.

Allison and I headed out after one of the toughest weeks I'd had in a while. I was going non-stop--no breathers, no real time for self-care. I was worn, frazzled, depleted.

Still in the thick of working out my back issues, I sat out on morning yoga, electing instead to get an extra hour of sleep in a peaceful place. I also sat out on the 'lab' part of the Organic Farming workshop we attended, volunteering to help Angie out in the kitchen. (Chopping copious amount of vegetables = therapy.)

Instead of bumming about missing out, both of which I had been doing a lot of lately, I told myself I would spend that time and energy focusing on the wonder it was that I ended up at the center on the close of a very trying week. If my mind wandered toward worry, as it is primed to do during stressful times, I chose to focus on other lucky coincidences, like the fact that Allison moved back to Marquette as another close friend left, leaving me vulnerable in his wake. Turns out the center had its own share of lucky stories: Angie met a friend downstate whose family has close ties to the center, where she ended up working years later. That friend, a calm, kind and funny girl, happened to be visiting the center that same weekend, and was full of interesting stories about the center's history.

As we sat down to one of Angie's delicious meals, one of the community members asked Allison and I, "So, do you think your sister landed in a good place?" I marveled at the phrasing of that--"landed in a good place". Landing implies some kind of take off or initiative, yes, but also, to me at least, the phrase implies some kind of randomness, some kind of luck, some kind of destiny. Also: having been there just over 30 hours, how could we tell? Was that even enough time to judge?

But it was a good place, you could tell. Kind, encouraging smiles for newcomers. Thoughtful conversation at the dinner table. Genuine expressions of gratitude for small acts, like setting the table or making flowers out of the bottom of peppers for the veggie tray.

Before that trip, I was usually good to meditate for maybe 3 minutes. One of the employees made a comment about mindfulness that got me from 3 minutes to 15 minutes. He said, "Every time your mind strays, just gently bring yourself back to your breathing, no judgement, no frustration, just bring yourself back." Very powerful words.

His words came back to me as I went about my first day of work today. In the past, being the new girl has made me feel very insecure, very anxious. My reaction is to turn inward and--you guessed it--worry. But today, instead of judgement or worry, I focused on gratitude. I wondered. I marveled. I shook a lot of hands. I took notice of kind smiles for newcomers and thoughtful lunch table conversation. And I think I landed in a good place.