holding pattern

I haven’t been writing for awhile, because to my mind, there hasn’t been much to write about. I spent the first eighteen years of my life in suburban Illinois, broke off for six, and now here I am, back in that familiar land of childhood. Not much has changed about Wilmette; some shops close where new ones open, but the rhythms are always the same, and probably always will be.

But living at home after a period of independence is a slightly different animal than a pure regression to childhood. I live my life somewhere between the North Shore ‘burbs and downtown Chicago: I sleep on an air mattress in my old bedroom, but I earn my own salary (even if it’s smaller than I’d like). And, damnit, I make plans with my downtown friends to dine at Penny’s Noodles after work, because it keeps me sane. Once my loving roommates find gainful employment too, we’ll join those city-dwelling friends. Till then, I’m finding ways to bridge the gap between my babyhood and my future.

To make living in limbo more tolerable, I’ve adopted two habits that make me focus on the present moment. One: yoga classes (in the city, natch). When you’re balanced just so on a yoga mat, hamstrings crying and mind wholly obsessed with the current pose, it’s hard to dwell on the ravine running between where you are and where you want to be.

The second habit: photography. I took my first darkroom class in junior high, kept with it on and off through college, and recently realized that deep within my bones, I wanted to pursue it more faithfully, even if I still—bashfully, childishly—balk at considering myself artistic.

Photography is wonderful because it forces you to concentrate on this moment: on the ray of light passing through the glass plate of a cake stand, on the deep shadows in the folds of a curtain. (Or, you know, the neon bunny outside of Wilmette Pet.) And shooting film, with its built-in limits, only heightens this effect. I have yet to get my first rolls developed, but when I do, you’ll be the first to see the scans!

Here in the suburbs, in my holding pattern, I’ll wait as long as I have to. If nothing else, I’m glad to have hobbies that force me to look at the current moment, over and over and over again, until—suddenly!—the future’s arrived.