It’s true, I do have an apartment in San Francisco.
My first grown-up private space where I make all the decisions, full of white walls and serenity and only those things with which I have fallen in love.
But that is not the only place where my soul is at peace.
Where I explore my passions and push my boundaries. Where I leave pieces of my heart.
Chicago Midway is one such place.
I’m here now, sitting in the bar, writing and watching and nursing a beer.
The white noise, the energy moving through this place, is meditative and exciting and inspirational.
Everyone is a walking story.
With new babies and on honeymoons, traveling to their grandmother’s funeral or to the birthday party of their best friend from college, going on the Hawaii vacation they’ve been saving for for five years or to the first meeting with the long distance lover they found online, on their way to close the big business deal or to make that one last desperate pitch so they can meet their commission quota for the month.
I love exploring to hunt down the secret empty seats, the desperate search for electric plugs as my iPhone hits 10%, questing for the one place that might actually serve something vegetarian besides a plastic bowl of iceberg gopped with ranch dressing.
Feeling absolutely alone yet pulled into the rhythm of boarding, the herd exiting planes and flowing towards baggage claim, people moving in and out of the seats at the bar as their time comes.
Always on my way to or from my adventure.
Connecting with the closest friends I have ever had. Spreading the world about Live Your Truth. Sliding down ziplines or dancing in clubs until 4 in the morning or driving 3 hours to get a tattoo.
Long walks flowing with the walk signs, randomly exploring a city. Toes sinking into the sand along the ocean while avoiding the cold waves as they chase us, the tide coming in. Endless conversations over endless martinis, wondering if we’ll be thrown out for laughing too hard. Finding the nearest Starbucks at 7:30 am and at 11:00 pm, gossiping about the laptop screens we’re reading over shoulders. Sitting silently in an empty bistro patio, smoking and listening to the trains shake their way through the city. Walking the entire length of the Las Vegas strip in search of a Walgreens.
I can write in these places. Think. Be inspired.
Hear the truth that lies dormant when I’m moving through my ordinary life.
I need my home to be nowhere, I need my home to be everywhere, for me to feel how to be all of myself.
Where do you love to be, besides your home?
Where is your office away from the office?
Where do you go to think, to write, to feel at peace, to be yourself?
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