chicago! chicago!

part 3 of my solo travel series: when what was once conquered comes back

On February 18th at exactly 11 a.m. I furiously typed my information into the ticketing app. With bated breath, I waited for my place in “line” and involuntarily let out something between a squeak and a scream when I made it through to choose my seat. I examined the map of available seats left, pondering how I could get the best seat for not an unreasonable amount of money and that was also next to an aisle just in case I needed to run out of there for any reason. I really hoped I wouldn’t, but my brain incessantly prepares for every worst case scenario, often to my own detriment. After what felt like eternity but was probably 2 minutes, I found a seat, entered my payment information, and got the email confirmation.

I’d be seeing one of my most favorite artists and greatest inspirations, Alessia Cara, live in concert for the first time in Chicago on April 18th. In the span of 10 minutes I had changed my life. I did it! Then, the panic set in and I started shaking. I did it. What have I done?

Not only would this be my first concert in 10 years (last one was One Direction’s final tour in 2015, my god), I’d be traveling alone to a new city for it. Over the following weeks, the weight of what I’d just set myself up for trickled into my brain like sweat slowly dripping down a body. I tried reminding myself that this is not something I haven’t done before. I went to concerts all the time as a teenager. I traveled alone last year for the first time and was so proud of myself. I have done the scary things. Why were they still scary? Unfortunately, repetition is key.

I tried focusing more on how excited I was, on the positives. Chicago is super close. The concert is on the first night so I’d be getting the major thing out of the way and would be free to enjoy the rest of my weekend trip with a post-concert glow. If I do this, I have one more thing to be proud of this year. This worked and didn’t. It got to the point where I’d be crying about it on my daily walks, listening to Alessia’s newest album and thinking about what it would be like to hear it live, simultaneously imagining beautiful and disastrous scenarios. Why can’t I just do things? This is what Alessia talks about in her music. I have to go.

Just when I thought I’d come to a good place about it, I got the notice that Alessia’s U.S. leg of her tour would be postponed. I hate to say that alongside my disappointment, I felt relieved. I wouldn’t have to do the scary thing. But my accommodations were already booked and despite the nerves, I was still looking forward to seeing Chicago. So I decided to go on the trip anyway, once again telling myself that this is not something I haven’t done before and I needed to stop being such a big, dramatic baby about it. Hey, sometimes insults work.

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“Are you okay? You look like you don’t feel very good,” my mom said to me on the morning I was due to leave.

Sitting there, trying to eat my breakfast sandwich despite the nerves bubbling up inside me, that was the last thing I needed to hear. I had been fine up until that moment. The reality that I’d be leaving in just a few minutes was hitting me. The anticipation of plans I can’t get out of, even if they were plans I made myself, makes me feel trapped. Once I get in the car, there’s no going back. Of course, I could always cancel and say I got sick, which wouldn’t be far from the truth because my brain is sick and is making my body feel sick. Not sick enough that I needed to run to the bathroom or anything, but that’s what I was constantly worried about. That my sick brain would make my body sick for real, which becomes an endless loop.

The brain-gut connection is my downfall. I’ve written about it in detail in “the intimacy of sharing a meal.” Basically, when my anxiety is triggered, I lose my appetite and can experience bad digestive symptoms. This makes me scared to eat because I don’t want to experience bad symptoms. But food is necessary for survival and the longer I don’t eat, the worse I feel, which triggers even more anxiety. All of this is compounded if I’m in a social situation or a public area. So I’ve learned some coping habits, like packing protein bars with me everywhere I go and avoiding plans that involve food. Or packing a bunch of food with me on a trip so that I have something I can quickly eat and can avoid the pressure of choosing when, where, and what to eat in situations that I’m anxious in. So, on the drive to Chicago, I first tried nibbling on an apple. The more I bit into it, the less anxious I felt, probably because I hadn’t eaten enough breakfast so I was experiencing some kind of low blood sugar situation that was contributing to my anxiety. If this sounds confusing, don’t worry, I barely understand it myself.

About an hour from Chicago, I ate a sandwich I packed, feeling good enough to get something more substantial down and looking forward to arriving at my destination, where my dinner situation was already sorted: pizza delivery. When I arrived, I took a nap and then walked the streets of Beverly, a beautiful suburb in the south side, while I waited for my pizza order at Milano’s to be ready, finally starting to feel content. I didn’t know what I was thinking, trying to travel to a new city and attend a concert on the same night. That was just too much pressure. I had the rest of the night to do as I pleased, so I stayed in the comfort of my lodgings, eating a couple slices of the ginormous deep dish (which was very good but I am still a New York thin slice girl) and watching TV, thinking the nerves were behind me.

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I woke up early, the anxiety bringing me out of my slumber better than any alarm could. What was I so nervous about? Taking the train to an unfamiliar city? That I’d suddenly feel sick or urgently need the bathroom? That I couldn’t find one in time? That I’d feel too anxious to eat enough food to sustain my day of exploring, thus making everything worse? I’d worried about all of that before and it (mostly) never happened or (mostly) wasn’t as bad as I imagined it would be. This is nothing you haven’t done before, I repeated to myself again as I slowly ate some yogurt. I had decided to eat breakfast at my lodgings, to take away the pressure of deciding where to eat and so that, anticipating that I’d feel nervous, I could try to get some food down in peace before facing the day. And also to save money. I couldn’t bring myself to drink any coffee though, worried it would make me feel worse. I felt better as I waited for the train, even running into my host as he was walking his dog, an adorable English bulldog, Cheeks. If you saw his face, you’d say he was appropriately named.

“Have fun exploring. There’s a coffee shop right there, one down there. Food all over the place, that’s how I gained 40 pounds. Enjoy Chicago!” my host waved as he walked Cheeks back home and my train arrived.

When I got off at LaSalle Street Station, I grinned. I did it! I felt free and content as I walked the streets of downtown, overwhelmed by its architectural magnificence. The morning was cool, rainy, and foggy, creating a beautiful, calming atmosphere. What was I so worried about? I walked to my first destination, Millennium Park, to see The Bean (its actual name is Cloud Gate–the artist, Anish Kapoor, intended for it to challenge viewers who look into its limitless, distorted reflection and think about the dissolving boundaries between dimensions, but our monkey-brained species saw it and went “BEAN!”). It was truly a magnificent work of art and I just stared at it from every angle as long as I could.

Before the main sight of the day, the Art Institute of Chicago, I sat on a bench in Millennium Park and ate an apple and sandwich I had packed. I had thought about grabbing a hot dog, another iconic Chicago food, from the truck just across the park, but it felt easier to just eat what I packed. I don’t know why I couldn’t just grab a hot dog. There was virtually no difference between eating that and eating my sandwich; I’d still be sitting on this bench, eating in peace. But maybe I could grab something at the museum cafe later.

I was nearly brought to tears at the art museum for multiple reasons. One, everything was so beautiful. Three massive floors full of the most wonderful paintings, sculptures, and installations I had ever seen. There were entire rooms full of Monet and Van Gogh! I got to see iconic pieces of art such as American Gothic and Nighthawks. There was an exhibit of hundreds of miniature rooms (dioramas) that I could just stare at all day and made me want to cry, not only because of the thought that someone put so much painstaking work and detail into creating a tiny chair or flower, but because it reminded me of my uncle who made dollhouses just as detailed as these dioramas. I stayed until closing, buying my obligatory postcard at the gift shop, thankful that I stayed as long as was possible, because I nearly hadn’t.

Alongside the awe and wonder, I was fighting the urge to leave. By one o’clock it was hitting me that I hadn’t had much to eat. I was tired, on my feet, and beginning to feel shaky again, from hunger or anxiety or both. I walked from room to room not fully connected to myself or my surroundings, sometimes barely registering what I was looking at. Part of me wanted to go back to the comfort of my room and nap but the other part of me knew I’d be pissed at myself if I did. What had I come all this way for? After each gallery, I told myself “just go to the next one.” Eventually, I sat down in one of the communal areas and took a few minutes to eat a protein bar and drink water. Eating at the cafe just didn’t sound appealing even though, once again, it was virtually no different from me sitting here eating this snack. I felt better, thinking I could get through the next few hours until closing and then, tasks completed for the day, go to my accommodations and eat the rest of my pizza in peace.

Which is exactly what I did. I watched an old television show as I nibbled on my leftovers, glad that I made it through the day and wondering what the hell I was so worked up about. This isn’t anything I haven’t done before. I just had to make it through tomorrow and then I could go home. But I didn’t want to feel like this trip was something I had to “make it through.” I wanted to feel present and comfortable. I had in Salem and Boston. So why was it a problem now? I went to sleep telling myself I’d do better tomorrow, I’d eat at a restaurant or even go wild and eat at two restaurants and stay out as late as I could.

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The train from Beverly only runs every two hours on Sundays so I was back in my room, slowly sipping on a protein shake while I waited for the next one to come. I thought about how lonely this experience was, taking bird bites of food in my room every morning as I anticipated the day ahead. I should have been at one of the many coffee shops, sipping on a latte and munching on a breakfast sandwich. If I was traveling with someone, that’s what they’d want to do and I’d feel even more anxious because I’d want to go along with what they wanted but too scared to let them know how I feel, worrying I’d be ruining the fun. Which is one of the reasons I started traveling alone in the first place. I could do what I wanted when I wanted without worrying about another person. If I felt anxious or sick, there wouldn’t be the anxiety about trying to hide it or deciding to speak up about it. I could just remove myself from a situation. I could do things like this, eating in peace while trying to calm myself down, not worried about performing normalcy or, at the other end of the spectrum, being so in my head that I shut down. But how lonely it can be.

I felt better again once I made it to downtown, content knowing that I can walk anywhere, free as the many pigeons that wandered the streets and came within inches of my feet. I really wanted to go to the Nutella Cafe though, mostly to see their giant tub of Nutella, but also to try and eat a little something, because if I can do that, then it won’t feel as hard later. Forgetting it was Easter Sunday, the line for the cafe was out the door, but I patiently waited, deciding that I’d just get a croissant to go. I had a valid excuse for this: I needed to grab a water taxi to Chinatown before 5pm and still had a lot more things I wanted to see before then. I simply didn’t have time to sit down and eat a meal. Besides, I had packed a lot of snacks with me for backup. But a part of me knew these were just excuses to get out of doing something uncomfortable. While I waited in line, I asked a couple in front me if they could take my photo next to the Nutella jar, apologizing in advance for being an annoying tourist. Once I got my croissant, I walked down the block to a CVS and ate outside, surprised at how quickly I was able to finish once I got those initial few bites down. Maybe I should have just ate a meal.

I bought an emergency umbrella at CVS because it had started raining (and also ran into the glass in their revolving door, which I’m sure there’s security footage of somewhere), and I’m glad I did because as I was admiring the shops along Magnificent Mile, it started to POUR. And… well, when they say Chicago is the windy city, they mean it! My umbrella INVERTED several times as I used it to shield myself from the rain and the strong gusts. I really didn’t mind the rain that much, but the wind was a different beast. My sights were set on Navy Pier, mainly to see the big ferris wheel, Lake Michigan, and their public bathroom. Chicago–why so few public bathrooms? Once there, I was faced with a decision: eat a snack from my bag or try and grab food from the pier’s food court, knowing my next stop would be Chinatown and I wasn’t sure how long it would be before I could grab dinner.

I chose to eat as much of a Potbelly sandwich as I could, opting for a small, simple option. I was a little annoyed at myself–we have Potbelly’s in Cincinnati, I should be eating something more local. But they did originate in Chicago, so, whatever. I ate half the sandwich before taking the rest with me, vowing to finish it while I waited for the water taxi. Of course, I didn’t. I carried it with me all the way to Chinatown and then guiltily threw it away, telling myself I’d be getting dinner here anyway.

Cincinnati doesn’t have anything like a Chinatown. One of our neighborhoods, Over-The-Rhine, was home to thousands of ethnic Germans, and then African Americans, but now it’s anglicized and gentrified. I walked the streets in awe of the many restaurants and stores with neon signs and thousands of colorful posters advertising goods and services in Chinese and English. That was one of the things I loved most about Chicago. It’s so diverse. It is a major tourist city, so it’s only natural to see people of different backgrounds, but every day I saw people from all over, varying accents and languages floating around me like music. I felt so lucky to be in a place like this, something so different from my home. I wandered the merchandise-packed tight aisles of a souvenir store and bought a Solar Lucky Cat, and then to a boba-dessert shop for a lemonade and Ube donut, which was probably one of the best donuts I’ve ever tasted.

It was early evening and the question of what to do for dinner started plaguing me. I was surrounded by so much food but none of it sounded particularly appealing, not because I don’t like Chinese food but because I felt a sort of choice paralysis that was only made worse by the ticking clock. I had to be back at LaSalle Street Station by 8:15 p.m. at the latest to catch the train back to Beverly, and I had to take the subway to get there in the first place. So my mind was running through train schedules and logistics, wondering what I really had time for and fighting the urge to just leave. In reality, I had plenty of time, and I realized that on the subway, disappointed that I yet again did not get any food, not even takeout which had been an option I was considering. My excuse was that I didn’t want to have to carry it on the train, especially anything soupy like ramen, but I once again knew these were surface-level excuses to save me from doing what seemed uncomfortable. Which was ridiculous because this is nothing I haven’t done before.

When I got back to downtown, I had a little over an hour to kill before I had to be back at LaSalle. My plan was to grab a sandwich or something from a food truck and eat it at the park where there was a public restroom. But surprise surprise, I wasn’t allowed into the park because this time I had remembered to carry pepper spray with me. I asked where another public bathroom was and the guard said across the street at Raising Cane’s, of all places. But it was Easter Sunday. They were closed. Seriously, Chicago–public bathrooms!! I bought an emergency sandwich at Walgreens and got to my train 20 minutes early, nibbling on a protein bar to sustain myself until I could eat a full meal in the comfort of my room.

Full from my meal, I packed my things and went to bed content that tomorrow would be my last day. The plan was to explore a couple neighborhoods and then drive home. I felt excited, thinking of the places I would eat at, the shopping I’d do, and the communities I’d explore.

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I slept in as late as I could, feeling uneasy and sad. As I spoon-fed myself some yogurt, my plan to explore dwindled until I decided I would just go home. I ate a couple snacks on the drive home, trying to put off getting a meal somewhere. I could just order something at a drive-thru and nibble on it as I drove, it would virtually be no different than what I was already doing. But I just kept driving, picking up food only when I got into my city limits and eating in my bed, spending the rest of the night catching up on TV and intermittently crying.

What had gone wrong this time? Why had what once felt so easy become difficult again? Maybe it was the big city, the reliance on public transportation that I’m not used to, my menstrual cycle, the general state of my mind these days. I enjoyed Chicago but I was so upset, disappointed, and annoyed at myself for not immersing in it fully. For a city known for its food, I had little of it. I had felt so free and content in Salem and Boston, like a different person. I had to tear myself away from those places, but I almost couldn’t get home from Chicago fast enough. The day after I got back, I wished I had just eaten at restaurants and stayed out later, imagining myself having so much fun. But I guess that’s the problem. It’s easier to feel this way when I’m in the comfort of my room looking back on the situation. When you’re feeling content, it’s hard to remember what it feels like to be anxious. When you’re anxious, it’s hard to remember what it feels like to be content. That’s why I’d wake up every morning feeling uneasy again even though the night before I’d felt at peace.

For multiple reasons, I don’t know when I’ll travel again. But I don’t want this to stop me. I debated even writing about this trip because I don’t want to sound like a broken record about my anxiety all the time. But since I kind of made an unofficial series out of it, I figured I should write about the realities of solo traveling as a person who doesn’t go out of their comfort zone that much. Sometimes, it unexpectedly works out beautifully, and others, it feels like a battle just to eat some yogurt alone in your room.

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musings from the meantime travels solo series

part one: columbus, OH

part two: salem, MA

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Thanks so much for reading! To see what I get up to when I’m not writing (and see the rest of the photos from my trip) you can follow me on Instagram at mjewrites.