I get asked a lot, “What brought you up to Chicago?”
The hospital where I was born is in a valley between two mountains in the town of Sylva, North Carolina. For most of my life, I lived in a town of 5,000 people. I grew up going to the beach every summer, knowing all of my neighbors, and attending Sunday school each week. It was great. It was quiet.
But after college, I was looking for a change. I decided to move in with my grandma. She was having surgery and needed someone to come stay with her for a month. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be staying, but I knew it wouldn’t be long. Yet, 5 years later, I am a permanent resident living in Chicago, and I couldn’t imagine it being any other way.
My first month since I moved to Chicago in the dead of winter during a pandemic
As much as the South will always hold a special place in my heart, Chicago feels like home. People talk a lot about Southern hospitality, but Midwest kindness is also overlooked. It’s rumored that city-dwellers are fast-paced and rude. Maybe that’s true for other cities, but the Midwest is different. Every day, people say hi in my apartment and allow me pet their dog in the elevator. Chicagoans hold doors at Starbucks and are at times excessively polite, but there is one distinct difference I notice here.
I am no longer in a fishbowl living in Chicago. When you live in a city, you are always on display, but not as much as in a small town. If I went anywhere in my hometown, people would ask who my parents were to see if they knew me. That doesn’t happen here. There are too many people for others to really pay attention to you. When I walk outside my apartment door, I am a stranger to the world.
At first, I didn’t see it that way. The first week I moved into my apartment, I walked to Trader Joe’s for lunch. As I stand by the crosswalk, I feel myself growing uncomfortable. Like everyone is watching me. I need something to do. I start straight ahead until the crosswalk, then watch the orange hand signal change, and listen to a podcast. As time went on, I realized that everyone else was just existing in their own world.
Back home, a trip to the grocery store could turn into three conversations and an unexpected catch-up. One of the unexpected gifts of moving away was learning what it feels like to be anonymous. Here, I can put my headphones in at the grocery store and enjoy a walk through the park with my boyfriend without worrying about running into someone I know. There’s a definite freedom in that. For the first time, it feels like I get to define who I am without the expectations of the place I grew up. And yet, I don’t feel disconnected.
At the same time, I have access to everything living in Chicago. I live in the heart of the city, where a world-class museum, a new restaurant, a concert, or a day by the lake is never more than a short walk or train ride away. But there is one downside: you have to share it. I get access to parks, the zoo, the lake, and shopping, but there will always be crowds.
It’s the same with apartment space. My 600-square-foot apartment is far more expensive than any apartment in my hometown. All space is shared. I shove my winter clothes in every nook and cranny. My sweaters live in a suitcase in my coat closet. But the difference is that my world doesn’t just exist in my apartment, but right outside my door. The walkability and access to everything are two of the biggest reasons why I have loved living in Chicago.
A couple of weeks ago, I got some free box tickets for the Chicago Cubs game from my work. My boyfriend and I walked to Wrigley Field after work. He says to me on the way home, “I can’t believe this is our life”. Maybe it’s the beautiful Lincoln Park neighborhood or getting to experience box seats at the iconic Wrigley Stadium, but I can’t believe it either.
When people ask me what brought me to Chicago, they’re usually looking for a simple answer. A job. School. Family. A boyfriend. The truth is, I came here by chance and stayed because of the life I built.
Somewhere between walks along the lake, seeing the giant skyscrapers in the West Loop, Cubs games on summer evenings, and quiet moments in my little apartment, this city stopped feeling like a place I once visited with my grandparents when I was little and started feeling like a place I belonged. Chicago gave me something I didn’t know I was looking for: the freedom to become the person I wanted to be while still finding a community that made me feel like I belonged.
I’ll always be grateful for where I came from. The mountains of North Carolina will always feel like a part of me. Every time I go to visit, it comforts me. But when I look around at the life I’ve built here, the people I love, the neighborhood I call home, and the city waiting just outside my door. Chicago is a great place to live, and it’s hard to imagine my story unfolding anywhere else.
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