Farewell, Chicago

How can I sum up 11 years in a single post?

Dear Chicago,

It really was love at first sight.

While my family made lots of trips to the suburbs on my early years (Six Flags, to be exact), the first time I distinctly remember your skyline taking my breath away was when I came up to a D.C. Talk concert when I was in 5th grade. (It was the iconic Free at Last tour with Audio Adrenaline and Out of Eden.)

A few years later, I went on an “urban missions trip” to Uptown when I was in 8th grade, where I was forced to give my testimony and preach with a bullhorn in front of the Wilson Red Line Stop. We were also taken to street witness to the homosexuals at the corner of Clark & Belmont. Lots of therapy helped me work through all of that.

When I was able to drive, I made multiple visits to my older brothers, one in the city and one in the suburbs. And after one fateful encounter in January of 2007, I knew I wanted to take the plunge and call you home.

I was terrible student. I missed around 40 days of school my senior year of high school. I had no college degree (still don’t!), and as a kid growing up in a big small town, a move like this would be near impossible and life-altering.

And it was.

In April 2007, I packed what little earthly possessions I owned into my Ford Taurus and made the move to live with my brother and sister in Logan Square to take a job at a growing church that met in Lincoln Park.

On my way to my first day of work, the Brown Line train I was riding make a sharp curve near North & Clybourn and I went flying and fell down. I recovered quickly, though my pride was a bit damaged, and laughed it off saying, “I’m new here!” to the entire crowd that witnessed it on their morning commute.

Slowly, but surely, I learned the rhythms and motions of city life. I still soften my knees whenever I ride the Brown Line as we make our way to the Sedgwick stop.

I learned to navigate the city, memorized “the grid,” started walk too fast, and somehow managed to dodge parking tickets for my first six months as a Chicagoan.

It was a dramatic, but necessary change of pace.

While so much was different around me, so many things were also happening inside me. I moved to Chicago as a 24 year-old that wasn’t comfortable in his own skin. I was struggling to understand myself, my purpose, and I had a lot of growing up to do. And thankfully, you provided me the right place for me to plant myself and grow.

We’ve had some amazing memories together…

There was the time I stood in Grant Park, hugging complete strangers the day we found out Obama would be our new president and the first black president in U.S. History.

Who could ever forget Oprah’s flash mob on Michigan Avenue?

And then there was the dance party that spilled into the streets of Wicker Park when the news broke about Michael Jackson passing away.

Another time, standing and crying with Chicago’s LGBTQ+ community as we gathered around a makeshift memorial at the corner of Halsted & Roscoe to remember the victims of shooting at Pulse nightclub in Orlando.

In 2011, Snowmageddon brought Chicago to screeching halt and all of us had the day off of work to frolic in the snow and walk across Lake Shore Drive.

And no one can forget being outside of Wrigley Field when we got the word the Cubs had broken the curse and became World Series Champions in 2016.

Chicago, you’ll forever leave your mark on my life and my arteries, and I wouldn’t trade my time with you for anything.

I have so much love for you and it seems like I’m cheating on you to say good-bye. But as much as I knew I was supposed to move here 11 years ago, I feel the same nudging as I pack my memories and get ready to move to New York City.

Sydney, Australia, and San Francisco tried to steal me away from you, but I can’t help deny but feeling that something bigger is calling out to me from NYC as loudly as the Windy City did when I was still living in Peoria, Illinois.

I recognize that this chapter of my life has largely been centered in my work and identity in the church, but the process of coming out (detailed more here) and not working for churches any longer almost makes this a symbolic move for me from one life to another, where I’m more grounded in who I am and in what I believe to be true of how God loves every one of us, unconditionally.

There’s a lyric in Hamilton that has haunted me since the first time I heard it,

“In New York you can be a new man…”

In many ways, I became a man in Chicago. And I know this change in scenery is going to have a profound impact on me for the better. In New York, I hope to become a new man.

Chicago, you won’t be far from my heart and I promise to come back and visit often. In my parting, let me leave you with a few final thoughts:

• Don’t ignore what’s happening in our city. As beautiful and wonderful as our city is, it’s history and present realities aren’t something an Instagram filter could mask or make pretty. The crime and injustice in the city is grievous and there’s so much work to do. We cant’t change everything but we can change ourselves and how we treat others. I HIGHLY recommend you check out A People’s History of Chicago as a starting point. It rocked my world.
• Go easy on St. Patrick’s Day. For real. But I’ll always have the Crime in Boystown run of the day’s festivities.
• Churches, be clear about issues that matter. Everyone (LGBTQ+, women, and people of color) deserve to know where you stand on policies that impact them. That’s why Church Clarity exists. Clarity is reasonable.
• Keep the dream alive. I’ll be back if the Cubs make it to the World Series again. But seriously, I’ve seen so much change in the city since I’ve been here, mostly for the good… but keep hope alive, keep adapting and changing, keep growing into the great city I know you are capable of being.

Do good. Be kind to each other. Keep your spirit strong and shoulders broad. You may be called the Second City, but you were and forever will be the city that first had my heart.

So many people come to Chicago with dreams and aspirations of changing it, but I know they, like me, are the ones who change. I may have been born in Peoria but I was built in Chicago.

Much love and gratitude,

Tim

P.S. — About a year or so ago I put together a list of some of my favorite things in Chicago. I updated it a bit for your reading enjoyment here.

P.S.S — Follow me on Instagram (@timschraeder) and check out my Chicago countdown and follow my new adventures in New York City.