Light At The End Of The Tunnel
Theme Song: If You're Hurting by Trousdale
As soon as my marriage ended, my house went up for sale…
I loved that house.
I raised my kids in that house, and against all odds, when many people would have crumbled, I found my strength and confidence in that house.
But, as gut-wrenching as it was, it was time to go.
If I had any hopes of getting my head above water financially and finding a new place to call home, I needed the equity out of the house and a few months to pay off some debt.
I was scared out of my fucking mind.
But worse come to absolute worse, there was always Mom and Dad’s couch.
We sold the house in three days.
Shit was getting real.
And much to my chagrin, time does not stand still when I am in a crisis.
The closing date was fast approaching.
My forever home would soon belong to someone else.
I was panicking.
Which doesn’t happen to me often.
I tried with all my might to focus on the light at the end of the tunnel.
Some days succeeding
Some days, failing miserably.
The thought of moving back home with Mom and Dad was getting more real and more unsettling.
I knew I had to think outside the box.
And I am grateful that now and again, my high-ass brain has an idea my sober brain doesn’t.
Switching my online search from Apartments.com to Airbnb.com was a fucking game changer.
Airbnb didn’t care about my shitty credit and lack of money in the bank; as long as I had a working credit card (which I did) I was in.
Pumping myself up for a few months of adventure, I searched a dozen or so locations within a two-hour radius.
And just when I was about to exhale, I got the wind knocked out of me when my mom got diagnosed with breast cancer.
We were so focused on my dad’s health that the thought of my mom getting sick never crossed my mind, and with Dad already going to dialysis three days a week, I wanted to be close by.
There was a shit-ton of listenings in certain areas of the city that fit my criteria and were more reasonable than anywhere else at only slightly over my budget.
This would put me about 20 minutes away, give or take, so it seemed like a no-brainer.
I never lived in the city before.
I wasn't sure if I would love it or hate it, but it was only for two months.
So, I entered Chicago into the location search field, and on January 14th, with a wind chill of -20 degrees, my ex-husband, my two boys, and I packed up the house, along with all our memories and pride, and said goodbye to Vernon Hills.
I’m not a big crier, but the tears flowed freely as my youngest son, our two dogs, and I drove the hour South to Logan Square.
I was letting go of 20 years of fear, anger, resentment, broken promises, and all the hopes and dreams I tightly clung to, even though I knew in my soul, they were not meant to be.
It took me a few weeks to get acclimated and get over my fear of city driving (I can even kind of, somewhat, sort of, parallel park now)
But I preferred to walk and wander and explore whenever possible.
And I fucking loved it.
I loved looking at the graffiti or art (depending on how you viewed it) that brightened the city's concrete walls.
I loved seeing the skateboarders on Bloomington Ave as I made my way to walk on the 606 Trail.
I loved the 606 Trail.
I loved the tiny vintage shop tucked away in the back of a local restaurant, where I got the cutest hand-knit sweater vest.
I loved having a 100-year-old family bakery on one end of my street and the best Mexican food on the planet on the other end.
I loved the vibe.
See, I always had this feeling of being out of place before.
I don’t know how much of that feeling was reality or how much I made up in my head, but I felt a sort of peace in the city that I had not felt anywhere else.
When I left for the city, my goal was to get back “home,” and when it was time to head back “home,” my goal was to return to the city someday.
By this time, I had paid off some debt—not all, but a good chunk—and I had six months' rent in my back pocket.
It felt nice to have a little breathing room, and I was hoping that would give me a leg up on the competition in securing a place to live.
I looked at a few places that didn’t work out.
Either the landlord was unwilling to take a chance on me, or they were filthy.
We’re talking worse than my son’s college apartment kind of filthy.
But I kept chugging along.
Once again, depending on the kindness of strangers.
I couldn’t quite see the light at the end of the tunnel yet, but I could feel it, and sometimes that’s more important.
And Karma finally found its way to me when I met my current landlord.
she just let someone out of their lease six- months early because they found their home; I was coming in with six months’ rent…
I was open and honest about my situation.
she said she wouldn’t check my credit score.
She verified that I was not a criminal and wasn’t lying about my employment.
I signed the lease.
And on a sunny 60-degree day, my ex-husband, my two boys, and I moved my stuff into my new place.
Although my new digs are only 10 minutes from “home” and my old life, and I have frequented this neighborhood countless times before, it feels like a world away.
Theme Song: If You're Hurting by Trousdale
I may try a feeble attempt at one of those apartment tour videos I get sucked into on TikTok. I know you don’t want to miss out on that so please give me a follow
So glad you are finding your way, Jill. You got this!