In my 20s I had a bunch of chances to move out to the bay area or New York, work at a big company, play the startup lottery. I never did, clearly. One company approached me with a creative director role and I said I’d love to accept, and then asked them to move the company to Chicago. They did not reply to my inquiry.
I have regretted nothing about this decision. Chicago is one of the best food cities in America, and it’s also the best large city for community in America. I like both of these things enough to orient my life around them. I was once wandering a different city with a local there, and they said something that stuck out to me: “this is going to sound like I’m dissing [CITY NAME], but the people are unambitious here.” I instantly got it. Chicagoans have ambitions to throw the best barbeques and go to every street festival during the summer. They do not have ambitions about their jobs, only to do good work and vibe.
In short, I log off at precisely 5:01p every single day, and then I cook, garden, go to shows, and hang out with my friends. Which is exactly what being a Chicagoan is supposed to be. My friends frequently tell me that they have to remind themselves that I’m a very different sort of person in my day-to-day job. Good. My colleagues sometimes get invited to my big parties, and they’re shocked at the vibes. Good.
Besides the obvious quality-of-life elements, there is a fringe benefit to my job about doing all of this. None of my friends are early adopters of anything except for bike lanes and locally native fruits. Their phones are five years old and their screens are cracked. Every single one of them is pausing new tech purchases because Apple is a fascist company now. Some of them are asking about screen repair.