We're Moving.

I have lived in the city of Chicago for 12 years. It's where I became an independent adult. It's where I relocated after leaving the home I'd lived in for 18 years, which was situated in a small, white, suburban town. It's where I first used my (ahem) fake I.D. It's where I rented my first apartment. It's where I opened my first checking account. It's the home of the first public transportation system I learned to navigate. It's the home of the first--and best--jazz club I've ever frequented. It's where I learned the pedagogy required to teach music. It's where I fell in love for the first time. It's where I learned to cook, to interpret music, to stop procrastinating. It's where I owned my first home, and nursed my first baby.

Oh, Chicago, how I will miss you. I will miss your free zoo and your aquarium. I will miss your little parks in the middle of a busy city block. I will miss Lincoln Park, my original stomping ground. I will miss Andersonville (my second stomping ground), which I witnessed pull itself up by its bootstraps to become a trendy, yet charming, little neighborhood. I will miss living 20 minutes from the airport, and a swift 4.5 hours from my mom. I will miss being able to zip downtown for a show. I will miss watching the Thai delivery guy drive on the sidewalk to our door. I will miss the crazy, toothless Polish lady down the street who always steps outside to say hello to the Munchkin. I will miss my new neighborhood friends. It will be a big inconvenience to find a new veterinarian, and a new pediatrician, and a new dentist. It will break my heart to have to find a different music teacher for our little mommy-and-me class.

Dear Chicago, I will miss you so. You can keep your parking tickets, your city stickers and your "boots," but I'll be sure to visit often so I don't forget about the rest. Thanks for 12 inspiring years.

(For the record, my NEW town is where I met my husband. Trump card.)