In 2006, we moved from Dallas, TX to Chicago, IL. Travis got a job here, and Cyndi was able to transfer. So we decided to move 950 miles from a tiny, perfect Cape Cod we loved, loved, loved (and sold in 1 day) to the third largest city in America.
So, in the span of two weeks, we flew to Chicago, and spent the whole 1 day we had looking at apartments previously occupied by mice, dope fiends and Freddy Kruger. But luckily, amidst the wreckage, we found one sharp place. An oversized 2 bed, 2 bath with a new kitchen, w/d in unit, 2 living rooms and um, no parking, no outdoor space and no central air.
It was for sale or rent, and Travis wanted to buy it on the spot (back in the days of e-z credit!) but Cyndi, the calm, thoughtful, centered one, said no.
And she was right, because despite being near the lake (Michigan, ½ block from) and buses, it wasn’t right. There weren’t a lot of places to go out, there was no parking, no a/c, boiler heat, a tiny w/d, no 3rd bedroom (which is code for you-know-what-type-of room), there was no space for Roxie and Lewis (beagles any neighbor would hate) to chillax and/or piss in.
I said piss. I’m hardcore like that.
And then we didn’t even know if we’d like Chicago. And that first year…we didn’t. We fully intended on moving back, or somewhere else. It was cold, and kind of lonely, and really cold.
3 years later, friends have moved to town, we’ve actually made some new ones, we bought big f-ing coats, and well, we’re sticking around for a while. So we’ve patiently waited for our savings account to grow, unexpectedly got to see the housing market implode, and endlessly debated whether or not to move to the burbs.
We didn’t.
Instead, we scooped up a townhouse. About 10 blocks from our first place. BECAUSE WE’RE ADVENTUROUS.
We’re closing in less than a month.
Let the journey begin.
