tonight marks one year since andy and i arrived in chicago in our gasping, rusty moving truck, with frantic cat and frazzled nerves in tow. to be honest, the sight of a uhaul still makes me a bit nauseous. this is the longest i’ve lived in any single place since i left my parents’ house at age 18. i’ve been fighting grass-is-always-greener urges lately, feeling homesick for places i’ve been before, idaho and california, but we’re not giving in this time, not for now. in the past, every time a place starts to bite my ass, i’ve just picked up and moved on – new project, new people, different set of worries/benefits. but that nomadic lifestyle was taking its toll. i haven’t really put in the effort to be a part of a community in a long time, not since college, and i can start to feel what i’ve been missing out on. there’s endless amounts of chicago left for us to explore, but our neighborhood is starting to feel like ours. i’m no longer eyeing my apartment like a game of survivor, deciding which possessions will have to get voted off the island with the next move.