Whenever I arrive at a new place, I try to make sense of it using the things I already know. So when I came to Chicago, I tried to put it in the context of New York or Boston, cities I think I know at least somewhat well.
Chicago’s different, though. Although the architecture reminded me of my state capital, Chicago transcended the limits of its physical description. There’s a comfort in the city that is hard to put your finger on. There’s a sense of camaraderie that makes you feel that if you fall down, there will be someone to pick you up.
Everyone wanted to talk to me.
In my first interaction, I walked away with several recommendations for dinner that night. In my second, I learned that there was an upgrade to a local apartment that caused the temporary living of the residents in a nearby hotel. In the third, I learned about an art exhibit, protesting the use of nuclear bombs. These conversations didn’t stop.
For an extrovert, the above may seem like an everyday occurrence. However, for more introverted personalities, like that of myself, this doesn’t happen. All of these people approached me, not the other way around. And they all made me feel at home in a city that I have never been to.
The interaction that I hold closest to my heart happened at dinner. Attending a restaurant (which was suggested by the woman I met earlier), I met Ms. M.
Ms. M is a middle-aged woman with whispy, grey hair. She has sepia skin and wears a small, inviting smile. She immediately introduced herself and, upon finding out that I was a tourist, explained that she was a Chicago native — born and raised. She works at a local HBCU and, despite being the youngest in her family, has a palpable caretaker disposition— she loves the kids she works with and will work with them to help them reach their best.
A few minutes after she introduced herself, Ms. M had already taken me under her wing. She was appalled that I didn’t order deep-dish pizza. It was my first time in Chicago! How could I not eat the classic? Ms. M insisted that she had to show me Chicago hospitality — she called herself a representative of the city — and offered me a slice of her pizza.
I politely refused her offer, expressing my gratitude while also acknowledging that it is her pizza. However, she didn’t give up.
I was eating my first deep-dish slice in a couple of minutes. It was delicious.
Ms. M and I made a connection that day — one that will stick with me forever. We won’t ever see each other again. But for the half-hour she was in my life, she gave me optimism, gratitude, and kindness.
She made an effort to make that connection. Something that I, often socially anxious, would never make. By sharing her food, she created a relationship that, like Chicago, transcended its tangible nature. Ms. M swept aside any anxiety about what others would think about her impromptu gesture and did something that created a connection in this world.
This is art. Art is connection. And the most successful artists have the courage to share their beliefs and their love in this world. Ms. M doesn’t have a Wikipedia page, nor is her work displayed in a museum. But Ms. M spreads love and inspiration. That’s the goal of an artist. That’s the goal of a human being.
Connection makes for a good life. So, go out there: create it.
