A year ago, I went to a bar with live music with a new friend because she was talking to the drummer in the band. They met on the Red Line coming home from work one day. That night, they shared a kiss on the sidewalk outside the bar, while I scream-spoke to his roommate inside. 

Last week, I went to her new studio apartment where we shared a piece of apple pie and a bottle of wine. She told me about her recent, still extremely fresh breakup. And also about how much better she was feeling, how excited she was about her new space and her upcoming trip to Washington. 

That night at the bar was the last time she saw Red Line-drummer-guy and we never went back to that bar again. We did take a drunken video while in line for the bathroom, though. In it, we describe where we are in slurring speech and too-loud voices. “We’re at Howl at the Moon,” she said. “We’re in Chicago—where we LIVE,” I add. 

We’d both only been living in the city for a few months at that point, but everyone needed to know we were “locals.” Now, sitting cross-legged on the furniture she bought from Amazon and lugged up three flights of stairs by herself, we really do live here. 

The home that is here, separate from the places where we grew up, from the small, Christian, Midwestern colleges we went to, from the boys who have broken our hearts or mended them back up, is one that we got to build ourselves. 

This Sunday we are hosting a Christmas cookie decorating party at my apartment. She’s inviting some of her friends who never made it to Howl at the Moon last year but who will make it this time, and I’m inviting friends I’ve met just this year. While they probably won’t mix and mingle much, we will host a party together. 

She’s making the dough and icing and I’m decorating my sweet, small home. I got a four-foot tree from the Home Depot Garden department and decorated it with old plastic pearl necklaces and assorted ornaments left over from family gatherings. “Do you have a rolling pin?” I ask her. “No, but I have a wine bottle that’ll do the trick,” she replies. 

Standing in Howl at the Moon, trying to get to know my friend’s potential boyfriend’s roommate, I felt discouraged. Where were my people? Who was I supposed to fill my home with? In just a few days, my little home will be full of people I love, people I’d never known existed a year ago. 

On my vision board for the past three years, I’ve written the following reminders: you are young and learning how to live, and life is beautiful and I have time. I love this little life I have been building in a cozy city apartment, with friendships that have exceeded my expectations. Mary Oliver was right. It is a serious thing just to be alive in this broken world.

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