I didn’t see the value in making it a home. Home to me was my parents’ house in Wisconsin, while my apartment was just that - an apartment. I was addicted to travel - feeling depressed when I didn’t leave the city for more than a week or so - but I also thought Chicago was the greatest place in the world and loved having a base there.
I really wanted freelancing to work, and therefore I relied heavily on Airbnb for regular income. For many, this would have been a turning point, but not for me. I decided it would be, and I got off an hour later near a 24-hour Starbucks, where I willed myself to stay awake until I could get into my apartment at 11 a.m. For some reason, probably because of 24 hours of travel and sleep deprivation, I thought the train made sense.īack on the “L,” I debated whether going to sleep would be a terrible idea. Hotels were weirdly expensive in Chicago that night, and the hostel I sometimes stayed at was completely booked. A friend who I stayed with often was out of town, and I felt bad imposing on someone I was less close with at the last minute. When I got back from Bora Bora, I realized I had messed up my calendar, and my apartment was occupied for one more night. So well that I found it hard to turn down guests even when I was in town. It also means I don’t make very much money, thanks to rapidly decreasing magazine rates so to afford my apartment in Chicago, I used to rent it on Airbnb while I was gone, which was often. I’m a freelance travel writer, which means I get to visit amazing places and stay in some of the world’s most beautiful hotels. It was a far cry from the private bungalow in Bora Bora where I had been just 24 hours earlier, but extreme contrasts were becoming the story of my life. My car was empty, finally - the only other passengers had been two drunk men who kept asking where I was going and if they could come - and at each stop I tensed up, hoping no one else would get on. I’d never been on the “L” that late before, and my plan to ride all night was seeming less and less safe the more stops we made. I was tired, a little cold, and things were getting sketchy. one Friday morning two Novembers ago when I found myself on the Red Line train, on the North Side of Chicago, though I had been all the way north and south a few times already that night.
0 kommentar(er)
