THE GREAT GADFLY:

Brutha Can You Spare Some Change?



Change. Tumult. Development. Chaos. Growth. Risk.

I'm into the beginning of my third year of life in Chicago, and still I feel like I'm in the middle of a life-blinding freefall. My surroundings aren't as bad as they have been in the past, yet they seem sucky in new, more challenging ways.

I've made a decision to stay here a while. I plan on making this my home until I've wrung every last drop of possibility and hope from the thirsty sponge that is the windy city. I've made this decision partially because I'm stubborn, and I want to make good on what I thought was a good idea a couple years back; partially because I'm lazy and I don't wanna pack up all my stuff and schlep it to another city for a long, long time; partially because every time I mention staying in Chicago to my mother, I'm all but cut off by a sugary-sweet "oh GOOOOOOD!!! You're not going to be changing your phone number or moving far away for a while longer! I hate it when you pick up and move, thank heavens!!!"

Mothers. Gotta love 'em.

Still, I'm not such a mama's boy that I'll languish in a complete world of suck simply because it's easier for me to make trips to The Land That Time Forgot for more frequent maternal socializing. But still, I AM a mama's boy, so that consideration certainly charts.

Fortunately, I feel like this city is still a big blank canvas, and I've yet to scratch the surface of what I might be able to accomplish here.

Unfortunately, I've lived here over two years and I still feel like I'm observing and not participating. My own damn fault, I suppose; but by the same token, most of what I observe is stuff that doesn't make me want to participate. I take full ownership for the consequences of my picky ass, but that doesn't make it any more fun. Boo hoo.

I wish cities were like board games and you could just flip the top and read the rules and know the difference between "Sorry" and "Monopoly" and "Aggrivation" before you even put your little wooden peg on the board. After all, some games you take to easily and some games you just don't. Clue? Love it. Rummy? Yummy. Battleship? Dude, I am SO there. Risk? Ya might as well be speaking Russian - hate it. Chess? Well, ummm yeah, sure, I kinda get it, but every time I play I need re-taught.

New York was a board game I took to easily. But I think that's part of the design of the game. The rules aren't brain surgery, but the playing of the game can be pretty damn tough. I feel Chicago is just the opposite: when you figure out all the "ifs", "ands" and "buts" of how people go about life in this city, it's really not much of a challenge at all to do your thing, whatever that thing is that you wanna do.

The thing about New York that I took for granted was, no matter who you are or what you're all about, there's a place for you just about anywhere. It's a city that thrives on adaptation. You could be a school janitor by day, a lead actor in a hot off-Broadway play at night, and a phone-sex worker in the middle of the night, and folks wouldn't blink an eye. Only in New York, kids...

Chicago's different.

Out here, you are what you are, and that's more or less the end of the story. Period. After all, how can you take pride in janitorial services when you're distracting yourself with theatre? Are you a janitor who acts or an actor who does janitorial work? Would your business card read, "Janitor/Actor/Adult Services"? Exactly what color IS your parachute, anyway, buddy???

This city is very diverse. This city is not exactly a beacon of segregatory thinking. If New York is a melting pot, Chicago is a salad; or better yet, a nicely arranged veggie tray. This perception of Chicago used to kinda peeve me, but now I'm starting to think it could be helpful, centering, even therapeutic. I remember thinking a while back that if it were too much to ask of this city to be seen as a person who could do several different things at the same time, then by God, I'd stamp a big ol' WRITER sign on my forehead, fiercely own my label, and trundle my manifestation all over town like the best ball-and-chain there ever was.

Sometimes I gotta explore the extremes of a situation in order to settle comfortably into the moderation of realism. I need patience. Go know.

But still. It's been a bumpy ride, no matter how ya slice it.

I started out in Chicago scoring a job I loved, which mixed non-profit work with writing, and I thrived for a bit until I was fired (for the first time in my life) as part of what would become a series of lay-offs at the place, that would then scandalize the organization for months to follow. Then, I "lucked" into a series of graveyard shift word processing gigs, only to find that Chicago vampire-shift word processors are not the gruff-but-loveable freelance writer hacks that dominated the lawfirms of Wall Street; rather, the typical middle-of-the-night word processor is a somewhat unhinged middle-aged lady with right-wing philosophies and passions for gangsta rap and Precious Moments figurines. NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT. But, you know, a bit difficult for me to fit in.

Eventually I escaped that world when a new opportunity came up. I took a step forward and a step back when I took a freelance editorial assistant job - step forward being that I got to see the sun and, every once in a while, I copy-edited/proofed/revised manuscripts; step backwards being that I was getting paid less than I had since I was in my early '20s. I spent most of last year dirt poor...yet still able to afford living in my own place, and still able to afford cable on top of that - after six years in New York City, the price of living RAWKS out here, I gotta admit.

At the end of last year, I lost my freelance editorial gig, got a big, fat surprise check from an old job (profit sharing program, natch), did some travelling over the holidays and soon after, got an offer for a new paying gig - nine-to-five, permanent, no agencies or weird gun-nut porcelain figurine enthusiasts. RIGHT ON! Right?

Well, Gadfly, don't take off yer wings just yet...

I feel like I've graduated to the second level of the game of life in this city. I've gotten past needing a job just to stay alive. I'm not desperate for something, anything, to pay the bills at this point. I'm not in a situation where I'm working with people who have highly questionable social skills and who make me scared for my well-being anymore. I'm not getting home from work at 5:00 a.m. anymore. I no longer work with a mean screaming lady with a penchant for sweatsuits made out of what looked to be purple shag carpeting (though sometimes I miss The Co-Worker Formerly Known As Grimace). I would like to think these are steps UP the success ladder.

Now my crisis is more internal. I'm dissatisfied. My light is securely fit, nice and tight and snug, under the most opaque of bushels. I'm working in a place that seemed ostensibly related to writing and editorial work, at least in a relatively satisfying right-brained, use-a-stylebook and make-proofreading-marks kind of way. But, well, no. Not really. I'm essentially a personal assistant to a very self-sufficient marketing exec, and that's that. I don't belong here. And I don't get paid enough to make myself wanna believe I belong here. The pay's not bad, really. But it's not enough to divorce my energies from the things I know I could and should be doing.

Whether it's a day or a month or a year, I'm not long for this place. Just sayin'.

Fortunately, I'm not disgruntled. I like my boss, the environment isn't toxic, nobody raises an angry voice and there's a minimum of drama.

I just don't belong here, at this job, in this office. Not professionally, not socially, not at all.

And the older I get, the harder it is to fake other people's funk. I mighta been able to be a wolf in downtown-Chicago-office-worker's clothing when I was 22, but these days I just don't have time for it. I'm pretty good at being me. I come with good features. I'm becoming more and more of a package deal.

I gotta get outta here.

I'm trying to apply the rules of the city (that I'm still in the process of learning) to whatever it is that comes next. I think there's an advantage to playing the game by the house rules, and not just 'cuz it beats trying to sneak in the rules you're used to.

I have some ideas. I always do.

And the back-burner, well...I rarely have occasion to turn off the heat.

I'm ready for some change. I think I can afford to bring about some change within this already-changed life I've brought upon myself.

After two years of crappy and disappointing jobs, after a harsh winter that seemed neverending, after getting over a cold/flu/nasty-virus THING that seems to have been churning away through my insides for an eternity (yeah, yeah, I'm gonna see a doctor, I promise), I'm finally at a point where I can take a moment, stop, and ask myself:

What Is It I WANT?

And in letting myself take the time to ask that question, I feel a comfortable, familiar energy come back. One that isn't dependent on location or culture or province. Just the simple energy of knowing, whatever it is I really wanna do, I have the power to do amazingly well, and in a way that's unlike anybody else.

Oh. Right. Forgot about that.

I recently went through a phase where, when I saw anyone taking joy in their job - at my workplace, among friends, on television, in a book, wherever - I would get incredible pangs of guilt and jealousy. THAT SHOULD BE ME. Then I'd start spiralling, feeling like some kind of professional cripple because I'm not the typical "team player" kind of guy.

There's no "I" in team? Maybe "I" don't wanna be IN your team!

I kinda forgot that was a valid response.

I think it comes down to this - at least in the surroundings in which I've placed myself, the path is narrowing the older I get. I've had a pretty good run at balancing things I care about with things that make me money in the past, and now I have to take that experience and channel it into some new shape, something different, something involving CHANGE.

I think it's going to be about climbing a mountain, but whatever. I climb mountains. Mountains are no big deal. They just take a while is all.

I even more recently went through a phase where I needed to get out of town as much as possible. I needed to cleanse my palette of Chicago as much as possible. I think four weekend trips in a row might have been a bit extreme - my immune system isn't very happy with me these days - but now that the dust is just about to settle, I've realized two things:

1. I really, and I mean REALLY, need to clean my apartment.

2. Living where I live, I honestly don't have it so bad.

It's time for me to stop painting in broad strokes and start painting in bold strokes. I have the most secure home situation I've felt since maybe EVER, I live in a neighborhood that makes me feel safe and has everything I want in walking distance - I'm not suffering, and I'm not without my resources.

I have my box of crayons, now what am I going to color?

Lordy.


2003-10-14 - Last Haiku
2003-10-09 - Don't Cry Out Loud
2003-10-09 - Sit Down, You're Making Me Nervous
2003-10-08 - I'm Sure Miss Thing, I'm Sure
2003-10-07 - Carbonated Water, Caramel Color, Aspartame

index
archives
profile
Uffish
Jonno
Kiera Bombshell
Wonderboy
Dogpoet
email
notes
design
host

chicago blogs