ruby slippers

I come home to California for Thanksgiving and I barely step foot outside. Even so, I know what the air will feel like if I do and I can picture all the local landmarks. Things don't change, and even though I haven't been here for close to six months, I can still picture my surroundings so effortlessly. The ocean and beaches to the West. The beach side communities, Camp Pendleton, and later Los Angeles and Santa Barbara to the North. The city of San Diego, the harbor, and Mexico to the South. The desert and mountains to the East.

In Chicago I don't have such an effortless connection to my surroundings. The gridded streets confuse me sometimes, and I don't know which way is North, South, West, or East (well, generally, the lake) and what the landmarks in those directions look like. I don't know what the air will feel like when I step outside or how strong the wind will me: I'm chained to my thermometer. I don't know what happens when you drive past the city limits and reach the part of Illinois that grows the corn and soybeans that we all eat. It's a black hole, most of it, and the surrounding states are even a darker shade of black.

After four years in Santa Barbara I had a pretty good idea of my surroundings. But I don't know if I'll ever get to that point in Chicago: It's such a huge, mysterious city with sprawling suburbs, that I don't know if I'll ever see these places I hear about in the news and from Chicago natives. But until then, I'm not sure I'll ever feel like I'm home.