Farewell, Chicago

What had always drawn me to you — dating back to my first visit at 21 when I was covering the Big 10 football media day for my college newspaper — was that you were the perfect amalgam of toughness and sophistication. A city that had just the right dose of Midwestern practicality and East Coast panache; not too simple, not too snobby. For a boy with small town roots who wanted to experience the high culture of big city life, you were the perfect place to go.

And you didn’t disappoint. The magnificent skyscrapers, neighborhoods lined with vintage brick three-flats, hip dive bars that have been around since Algren’s days. All the restaurants — from the grimy family-run hotdog shops to the high-end steak houses — the museums, the art, the lake. I gobbled up every ounce of it.

You're truly a special city in a country that is sadly running out of them. One of the few classic American metropolises left. A place that still remains as unique as it was before the tentacles of corporate chains got their character-sucking grip on America (and like every city in this country, you're fighting a losing battle on a daily basis). There were probably 50 bars and restaurants within a four block radius of my apartment, and I can only count four of them that were chains.

Best of all, you're one of the few cities left in which it’s easier to not own a car. That alone was worth the price of admission.

I remember when I first moved in, my friends that had lived with you for years all told me that, over time, I’d take the all the architecture for granted. Instead of gawking at the high-rises in awe like a tourist, I’d motor around with my chin in my chest like a true take-no-shit city dweller. But I never did. Three years into it, I caught myself stopping on the sidewalk and glaring up at the Wrigley Building, the Sears Tower and the old print houses in the South Loop. After getting out of the Shedd Aquarium last Wednesday I stood staring at the lake and skyline for a good 20 minutes soaking all the beauty in one last time.

Things I’m going to miss most; day games at Wrigley, ambling through the Art Institute, afternoon cocktails atop the Hancock Center, schawerma sandwiches from Sultan’s, leisurely strolls through Hyde Park, the first 75 degree day of the spring when seemingly everybody in the city is at a beer garden by 6.

I spent much of my time wandering your streets by myself, yet somehow I never felt alone. And those times in which I did feel short of friends, I could stop off at the Old Town Ale House or the Charleston and feel like I had company, even if it was merely the character of the structure itself.

While the gravity of my decision to leave hasn’t quite set in yet, I’m sure it’ll all hit me on my on my first trip back. I’ll get that hollow feeling in my stomach you get the first time you see an ex with their new lover. When you realize that they’ve officially moved on, and they’re doing just fine without you.

There will surely be moments — a dull afternoon in Omaha or a confusing train station in Europe — where a pang of regret will shoot through my heart and I’ll miss how effortless and entertaining you were on a summer day, and I’ll wish I could go right back.

Until then, farewell, Chicago. Thanks for three of the best years of my life.