When I was leaving for Chicago, I was sitting on the plane and I had this awesome sense that this trip was some how going to change me. I even went as far as writing the time and date in the margin of a book I was reading in order to document the exact moment I knew things would be different.

 

Things never happen as we plan them to happen or even how we think they are going to happen.

 

Did my trip to Chicago change me? Did I discover my mother’s half sister (which by the way, does really exist somewhere…my grandmother told me about one day while I was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich)? Did I find a new sense of self? Is Chicago my new hometown?

 

Let’s take those questions one at a time.

 

Yes, Chicago did change me.

Nope, no discovery of a half-aunt hiding in Chicago.

I did find a sense of self, but it has been here all the time. I just keep avoiding it.

Chicago is not my new hometown. As much as I would want it to be, I know that Chicago is just a place for me to come and regroup. I don’t belong there.

 

So, let’s take a deeper look at the yes questions.

 

My sense of self should be first. I have no doubt in my mind that I need to be in the writing field. It is without a doubt where I belong. Teaching was something and is something I can do to make money and keep myself healthy. I am good at teaching and I have learned to focus on teaching while I am in the classroom. But teaching is not the sum of all my parts. I know that writing is the one thing that I can do well and I understand well. Writing is in my blood. When I bleed, words stream out. That is the end of the story.

 

As for my hometown, well, I still am not too sure where that place is going to be. I know that walking in Chicago, I didn’t get that sense of belonging that I felt when I walked in Boston or London. In both places, I walked around like I owned each place. Truth be told, each place owned me.

 

It was funny because the whole time I was in Chicago it was rainy and cold. Then my  plane to go “home” was delayed an hour and I sat on the runway for another hour. Chicago was having a hard time letting me go. I guess there was something I was supposed to see in my trip that I missed. What a pity that I will just have to come back.

 

Also, I arrived in Philly in a rain bath. Was Philly telling me I shouldn’t be coming back?

 

Now that I am thinking about rain and my traveling, I have noticed something very odd.

Every time I leave London, it rains. I never though much of it because it is London.

 

Boston…the one time I was there it didn’t rain. It might have rained the day I was leaving but I won’t count that because I don’t remember it.

 

When I was trying to move to Boston and those whores gave my apartment away, the whole time I was driving there it was like the sky opened up a can of rain.

 

Gettysburg…coming and going…never rains.

 

Does the rain hold a symbolic meaning for me? Is this one of God’s signs telling me where I should be going and not going? If so, it seems that Gettysburg is the most likely place. However, I know that I can only get recharged at Gettysburg. It is my hiding spot.

 

But what about London and Boston?

 

Should I be focusing on writing and living half my life in Boston and the other in London?

 

Or is that just crazy talk?

 

The only thing I am truly sure of is that I need to write. I need to stop being so much like an emo kid with a dull razor. People are sick of hearing me complain about wanting this writing life.

 

Sure, I have more of a writer life then ever. I have books by authors I have worked with and talked to on the phone and in person. It’s like the stars are all lining up and all I have to do is just take one step.

 

Why am I so afraid to just take that step?

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