It’s Only Eight Hours Away

I am sitting on the grass, gazing out over the beach and small waves of Lake Mighican. I am with my dog, Athena, and it is the last afternoon I will spend with her before I move from Chicago to Minneapolis. She is lying in the grass, relaxing and panting next to me. The 6pm sun creates long shadows of us, the image of her nose and perked ears and my strands of dreadlocks imprinted on the green in front of us (my clove cigarette sweetening the still air). It is mid-August, and the world considers turning into fall.

I am moving from this city I have come to love in the past five years. The tall buildings of downtown you can see when travelling south on Clark St. near Albion. The train system I finally know without needing to look up my stop when heading toward any location. The feel of Glenwood as I walk or bike to work. Quant houses with their big trees (the dogs leading their humans on leash).

I have grown. Stretched and jumped through the addictions that strangled and wrestled me down. I am new in my healthy body and have started to shed the hard, protective skin that living in a big city created for me. I am ready to slink out of that skin, to wiggle my toes and plant my feet in new soil.

Minneapolis it is. Where every street is bikeable, where the snow stacks up above your waist, where everyone I know  there is gloriously in recovery.

I feel at home in my body, finally, after three years of vacating it (the scars have faded). And now I am ready to inhabit a new, physical space that feels like home to me.

Eight hours away. Minneapolis it is.

(Thanks to Kate Trouble for encouraging me to blog again).

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1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    clayton said,

    Chelsey,
    I cannot imagine a more beautiful scene, dancing about eachother’s love:–)onward through the fog and sometimes bright illuminations… there are truly no limits to the imagination, and no obstacles to overcome! Take ’em by storm. love you, Clayton


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