In the Oklahoma summer heat, with sweat beading and running down our faces, arms, and pretty much anywhere else there was skin, we Tetris’d all of our stuff into a big yellow Penske van and headed north.
I relocated to Tulsa after finishing college in Oregon. From there I aimed to team up with a friend or two and try life in a new city. No one wanted to leave, and I was still there two years later.
Jake had moved up from Texas and we tried dating in the same town. Well, that turned out to be really positive for both of us, so I agreed to accompany him to Chicago.
Ten-hour road trips with one other person are psychological experiments; you must maintain blood sugar but ration the supplies to avoid pulling over before the next fill-up. Mild highway hypnotism is inevitable and must be countered with music suitable to the mood and time of day. If you've travelled like this, you understand it is an art.
Following a hospitable pit stop in St. Louis with Jake’s good friend (and accomplished singer-songwriter) Elliot Liebman, we hit I-55 bound for Chicago. That evening, we pulled up in front of our new place and shoveled our things out of the Penske truck and up a flight of stairs into our new home.
In this dingy, music-weed-and-beer-powered apartment, we lived for several months in a cramped bedroom with a rickety lofted bed. We questioned our pasts and planned our futures, experimented with routine and creative expression, struggled for independence and intimacy, and worked on our mental and physical health.
Chicago turned out to be temporary.
Love and Adventure,