Escape To The Concrete Jungle

BY MAYA FIDZIUKIEWICZ

Upon rising, I wake up, slip on my running shoes, and run toward Downtown. Within the first few steps, I pass the fire station, a small green park, a tall church bell tower, and the local coffee shop on the corner that smells more tempting than my workout. I run a few blocks farther, and I pass my favorite grocery store, a thrift boutique, and the “hippie” apartments I daydream about decorating someday. An abandoned storefront with big windows, a Spanish grocery store, and an electrically chatty Irish pub line the street as I fly past. As I near the bridge, the tops of skyscrapers start to peak out over the rooftops. A couple I run past are speaking Polish, my native language. One more block and I’ll see the Chicago river enclosed by the downtown skyline. The city dweller has everything they need right at their fingertips – shoe repairs, authentic cuisine, jazz music, and an array of lifestyles including the delis and boutiques of my own European culture. Ah, it’s a glorious morning in the city. That is how I spend my mornings when I visit the city that I called home for the first eight years of my life.

My family moved from Chicago to a place that could not be more different. My Wisconsin town is approximately three bars, one ice cream hut and a baseball field long. I grew up calling this my hometown, because – let’s face it – there is not much you remember before the age of eight. I loved every minute of growing up in my middle-of-nowhere town, but I was always the different one. While my classmates ate PB&J and fruit cups, I enjoyed open-faced liver sandwiches and pickles. I had no idea what High School Musical was or what cosmic brownies taste like. I attended school dances and was surprised at what my American friends considered “dancing.” I longed for a sense of belonging, a community – for people who eat rosół (chicken soup) on Sundays, roast kiełbasa over a campfire, and who are not afraid to ask you to dance. It was later in life that I realized I was lucky to share the Polish culture with my family in my humble Wisconsin home. I embraced the cultural differences I became associated with, but I wanted to be immersed more.

MAYA FIDZIUKIEWICZ, USA

Whenever I felt this need to connect more deeply with my culture and fuel myself with people who understand (that need), I headed back to the Windy City where my best friends graciously welcomed me into their homes. There was something about the big city that was so intriguing and colorful. The cultural exchange, the food scene, the languages you heard on the street, the fashion, the nightlife – these were what captured my admiration and made me yearn to come back. Being a part of a city that doesn’t sleep sounded energizing and exactly the recipe for my Roaring 20’s.

The time is coming when I will choose where the next chapter of my life will begin, and my travel bucket list is slowly turning into a list of potential places to call home. Even though I will always be a country girl at heart, I am captivated by the vibrancy and the cultural variety of city life, be it Chicago, Sydney, Warsaw or Seville. Today I imagine temporarily calling Downtown a place that I could work and live, and maybe even the place where I start my mornings with a run around the block. Chicago is the place where I find people who also grew up roasting kiełbasa, eating rosół on Sundays and dancing their hearts out on the weekends. As I am still young, the energy of the city excites me.

MAYA FIDZIUKIEWICZ, USA

All my life I thought escaping to Chicago was a way to connect with people who share my culture, to hear my language, to dance our dances. Little did I appreciate that this same culture I searched for in the big city was the same one I had right at home. The contrast of the concrete jungle I escaped to versus the country life I always knew puts into perspective how much I appreciate the roots that raised me to love and embrace the Polish culture that keeps me running after it. I guess we all search and search only to realize that what we want is right before our eyes. But isn’t that the purpose of our escape?