A Day of Firsts

The other night I told someone one of my dreams is to be the recipient of one grand romantic gesture. I'm not one for gifts or flashy displays but having someone genuinely express how much I mean to them would be an amazing thing to experience. In honor of the holiday, I've written about the closest thing I've had to a grand romantic gesture. Interestingly enough, it wasn't with someone I loved. Isn't it funny how things work? 

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August 28, 2010. 

I woke up in a beautiful hotel room with a Juliet balcony overlooking the city of Chicago. It was my first time in that hotel and the first time in that neighborhood. The traffic noise was not the same as the traffic noise downtown, I noticed. The cars were moving faster; the whooshing sound they made sounded soothing, rather than jarring. It was the first time I felt serene listening to traffic noise. 

It was going to be a day of firsts.

I showered and dressed, took a few photos from the balcony and then walked downstairs to breakfast. The hotel restaurant was full of families and couples and a group of men dressed for golf. The weather was perfect for golf. I sat alone at a table by a picture window that looked out over a terrace and watched pigeons foraging for crumbs amongst the table legs. The server was friendly but I noticed a trace of pity in his eyes that I was eating alone. He came back to my table as often as he could without being annoying. I was grateful for the company.

After finishing the meal, I strode down the hall to the conference room that was going to be my location for the next ten hours. I was the first one there. I didn't mind. The man I was there to listen to spoke to me as he was preparing the room. I was surprisingly at ease, given his reputation and celebrity. He seemed overwhelmed and nervous, two traits he wouldn't show the rest of the day, once he took the stage. I excused myself, both to find a table and to let him have a few moments alone.

I found the perfect seat, one that allowed me to face the stage and see the door. I sat there, sipping iced water and watching as people arrived, all looking just as excited as I felt. I sensed that I wasn't going to be leaving that room the same person. It seemed we all felt that way.

The room filled quickly. With only a few minutes to go before the scheduled start, I saw him walk in. He looked like he had just woken up. His eyes were tired, his hair a mess, but on him, it worked. He also looked nervous and not quite sure he was in the right room. He scanned the room for a seat and as his eyes passed over me, I smiled. For some reason, I felt the need to reassure him, to make him feel more at ease. 

His eyes stopped roaming the room and he focused on me. He smiled back as if he had just spotted an old friend. Seeing an empty seat beside me, he walked over and introduced himself. We exchanged names and he told me that he had hoped to find a friendly person at this event and he knew when I smiled at him that we were meant to spend the day together. 

And we did. We were there to take part in a soul-searching seminar that became personal quickly. In every exercise we were asked to partner with someone and he and I stuck together throughout. We told each other things we hadn't told anyone else before; we told each other things we hadn't even known until they spilled out of our mouths. We held each other up and made the other feel safe enough to go deeper into our emotions than either of us had before. 

I felt strong enough to be completely vulnerable with him. It was the first time I had ever felt like that with anyone. Another first. He told me over and over again that we had met for a reason. I believed him. I wouldn't be having the experience I was having had I been paired up with anyone else in the room. 

Not wanting to let go of what we were building, when it came time to break for lunch, we went off together. We sat at a little table by ourselves, sharing food and life stories and laughter and it was the most intimate time I've ever had with someone with whom I wasn't romantically linked. A first for me. His phone rang, twice. He ignored it, twice. Today is just for you and me, he had said. Everyone else, everything else, will still be there tomorrow. Tears sprang to my eyes and I rushed to blink them away. Feeling important to someone, even for a moment, is very powerful.

At the end of our meal, he borrowed a pen and started writing on a corner of the butcher paper that lined our table. As he wrote, he explained the story behind the words he was putting down. What he wrote were the lyrics to a song that he had written and wanted me to have. With a flourish he signed his name at the bottom, ripped that corner of the paper from the tabletop and handed it to me.

Then he sang the song to me. He didn't care who was around or who was listening. He looked me in the eyes and sang to me as if I were the only person in the room. It took my breath away. 

We spent the rest of the day together and even while listening to the speaker, we passed notes back and forth, wanting more and more information from each other. We wanted to know everything about each other and the day was waning. 

At six o'clock, we said goodbye and I walked to the lobby. My taxi had just arrived to take me to the train station when he came running out of the hotel, wanting to say goodbye one last time. We hugged again and thanked each other for the time we spent together. It didn't feel like enough but it also felt right. We were meant to have only that one perfect day. 

My life changed that day. I learned things from that seminar that still resound in me daily. I hadn't planned on going when I received the invitation but a small voice deep inside told me I had to. When I hesitated, it grew louder and louder still, until out of a desperate need to just quiet it, I registered. Another first.

It was a day of firsts. If the firsts are perfect enough, that's all you need. I left stronger and wiser and for the first time in a long time, full of hope. I had forgotten how hope felt. That day, hope felt like the comforting sound of traffic moving quickly past a Juliet balcony. Or a song being sung just for me. 

Girls' Weekend 2010

This past weekend was our fifth annual girls' weekend in Chicago. We didn't spend as much time away as in years past but we crammed in just as much fun and definitely as many laughs. I think Girls' Weekend 2010 is best captured in two conversations.

At dinner Saturday night. A woman and her friends are escorted past our table on the way to their own. The woman is scantily clad in a dress that has very little front, even less skirt and no back. 

Me, upon seeing the woman: "Oh my stars. Seriously?"

D, looking up at my remark and catching a glimpse of the woman herself:  "Is she kidding with that? Really, seriously?"

We both continue to stare, dumbfounded by what we've just witnessed.

Me: "I don't know about you but I wear more than that to bed."

D: "There are times I wear more than that to shower."

I proceed to giggle until tears are streaming down my cheeks. And, this is Reason #462 why D should have a blog.

******

Sunday night, on the phone with a friend after returning home. 

H: "So how was your girls' weekend?"

Me: "It was great. I fell for a 23 year old street performer and a $180 hat."

H: "So, just your typical weekend in Chicago."

Me: "Yeah, pretty much."

H: "You are so predictable. Which one did you end up bringing home?"

Me: "Neither!"

H: "Whoa... I would have lost that bet."

My Story

I was talking to someone a few weeks ago about the dreams we have for our lives and we were visualizing the future when he turned the conversation around and wanted to know what I believed my story to be. Each of us has a story that we tell ourselves and it has a lot to do with our happiness and ability to successfully achieve our goals.

Examples of the stories we tell ourselves are things like: I'm always late. I can never remember names. I am no good at math. I never fit in. 

So, as he sat there patiently, I took a deep breath and told my story. 

I am no good at socializing in large groups. I'm book smart but have no common sense. I am too quiet and reserved. I'm a klutz. I think too much. I'm not spontaneous enough. I'm no fun. 

He sat there for a minute, took my hand and asked me what the rest of my story was. I wasn't sure what he meant, wasn't that enough? He prompted me with, "You're the one everyone relies on. You're the organized one." Oh, yeah. Funny, I didn't even think about that aspect of my story. I don't tend to remember or believe the positive things about myself but man, those negative things jumped right out.

He asked me how my story was written. Part of it I could remember. Incidents from childhood, school years... but some I couldn't remember. It just always was. He said he would bet that most, if not all, my story was written by other people. One witnessed incident, one thoughtless nickname or joking insult, and the next thing you know, you're carrying the weight of someone else's reality for you. 

Then he told me to forget that story. I could change my story to be whatever I wanted it to be. The important thing to remember was, The Story always comes before The Reality. 

By the end of the day, I had rewritten my story. I'm proud to say I know exactly when and by whom my story was written now. I'm living a new story, in a new reality, and nowhere in it am I a klutz. 

What's your story? 

Holiday Weekend

After work on Friday, I caught the train to Chicago for the long weekend. As I suspected, I was not the only one with this idea as the train was completely sold out. A good number of Cardinals fans from St. Louis as well as Blackhawks fans from all over were aboard, headed into the city for a weekend of sports mania. Other than a few interesting drunken outbursts by a couple of them, it was a pretty standard journey.

Normally Canal Street is lined with taxis just waiting for people to spill out of Union Station and into their waiting back seats. Not so after 9 p.m. I, along with several other people, had to stand on the curb, arms outstretched, waiting for one of the dozens of taxis driving by to stop. As dumb as it sounds, I enjoyed it. That is one little slice of urban living I never get to experience in daily life. 

After checking into the hotel, ordering room service and unpacking, I enjoyed a quiet night of reading and thinking. I slept pretty well, if not long enough. I woke in darkness and sat for hours on the chaise lounge in front of the window, watching Chicago wake up. Everything was shrouded in dark shadows and blankets of gray and then as the sun rose, color was painted onto everything in vibrant hues. I love Chicago in the morning.

I spent the morning reading and writing and then headed just across the river to see the Memorial Day Parade. The weather could not have been more perfect. The sun was bright and only too warm if you had to stand in it for quite a while. I found a great parade-watching spot at the corner of State and Lake, the parade's starting point, which gave me the opportunity to alternate standing in the sun and under the El tracks to cool down. 

The parade was an amazing two hours of emotions. The number of veterans and young recruits, heroes of yesterday and today, surrounded and serenaded by dozens of marching bands playing military hymns was humbling. People on the sidelines watched and cheered, waved flags and shouted greetings, swollen with pride and patriotism. It was a fleeting moment of unity in an otherwise disparate world. I hope to experience it again.

Sunday was a day of reflection and soul-searching and writing. Fortunately, just when I was feeling completely bogged down in the mire of uncertainty and questioning that plagues times like those, I was due to arrive at the theater for a matinee of The 39 Steps. It was exactly what I needed. Completely entertaining, engrossing and engaging, it was a comical, lighthearted spoof that showcased everything magical about live performances. I left impressed and feeling more positive than I had all day.

When Monday morning came, I was not ready to come home because I never feel more at home than I do in Chicago. But normal life must be dealt with and I made my way to the station to catch the first train back. The car was nearly half-empty that early in the morning. To keep my mind busy and away from thoughts of the last time I traveled home on that train I daydreamed of the next time I could visit Chicago. I am already anxious to return. But isn't that how we all feel about home? 

Opening Up

I had a dream about riding a train the other night and it was not too hard to figure out that it was the train I will be taking to Chicago in just a few weeks. In the dream, I had found a seat, remarkably in a quiet, uncrowded area of the train, and was sitting alone, deeply engrossed in a book before we left the station.

Before long we had arrived at the first stop on the route. A woman boarded and sat beside me. I was irritated because there were plenty of other open seats and I did not want to be disturbed. She did not seem to notice and just smiled and began to talk to me. I answered her questions curtly, shifted my body to face the window and went back to my book. 

At the next station, a man boarded, sat directly across from me (in one of those horrible backward-facing seats that make me feel sick) and he, too, wanted to talk. Now, I had both of them asking me questions, talking with each other and to me, and I could no longer concentrate on my book, let alone ignore them. 

I put away the book, straightened myself in my seat and began to take an interest in their conversation. Soon I found myself drawn to these people, interested in their stories and wanting to get to know them better. We were laughing and chatting when the train made the next stop and a couple boarded. They were drawn to our little group and joined in our conversation as though we had all been pals for life.

This continued throughout the journey into the city. The train made stop after stop and at each one, someone even more interesting and colorful and vibrant joined our group. We were all fast friends by the time the train pulled into Union Station and we quickly decided to spend most of the weekend together, shopping, dining out, and sightseeing. 

I woke with a positive feeling about the dream, though in real life, I probably would have felt awkward and shy around so many strangers. I laid in bed for quite a while thinking about it and I think it was telling me to be more open to new people and new situations. I have a tendency to shut down and shut out the world when I am anxious, angry or uncertain. The dream reminded me that trying something new and giving others a chance may be exactly what I need and could, in the end, make me happy. 

I am looking forward to finding opportunities to 'put away my book and join in the conversation' around me. And, I am really looking forward to boarding that train.

The Beat of the Heart

Cities feel like beings to me, with pulses and emotions and the ability to provide comfort. The diversity of people, the economy, historical, civic and cultural events, and the prevalence of tourism all combine to give a city its heartbeat, its energy. Of course, the stronger those elements are, the stronger the beat. 

Chicago is probably my favorite city in the world. I only say 'probably' because I have not yet been to them all and it is possible that another may win my heart someday. But for today, Chicago is my favorite. I have always loved the energy I feel in Chicago. It is not an overwhelming, chaotic, frenzied type of energy that I assume larger cities like New York or Los Angeles may have (at least in areas) but more of a brisk yet purposeful, relaxed yet steady beat that keeps me motivated and positive.

I am heading up there again in a few weeks for an extended stay at my favorite hotel, in one of my favorite locations, and I intend to do all my favorite things. I also expect to spend hours working on my novel in a funky coffee shop, watching the colorful people pass by. I am looking forward to this visit with my dear friend. I have been gone far too long. 

Which is your favorite city? I am always looking for new places to visit, where would you have me travel?