My Corner of the World

How sirens remind me of my connection to this world.

The truth is, I'm an introvert living in an extrovert city who also happens to  love parts of extrovert Chicago. Or tolerates them. Or appreciates them, at the least.

This is my corner. Sirens, not just now, but almost every day, and not just immediate, but distant, too. There is always someone wanting, always someone on the brink, and living here has taught me that the distance between the outskirts and your doorstep is small. 

Not because you need an ambulance, but because you're short on rent or your heat's been turned off or you're a single mom who doesn't have enough diapers for this week or you just want ... a luxury that everyone takes for granted, like a TV, so your kids don't have to feel like they're lacking in everything.

Or, perhaps you need food or you're not safe and you've told the adult you trust most but they don't understand. Or maybe you're twelve and you want to die and there's no reason beyond life is hard and  puberty sucks and finding true connection in a world that values online communication is almost impossible. 

I've come across every single one of these situations, and without my specific experience in *this* specific neighborhood, I'd have no idea about how much I could help and how much of this world I can weave myself into. My kid, too.

It's exhausting and liberating to live in a space that is so busy with both survival and abundance. You can take from both ends of the spectrum: Give when you have, take when you need. 

I dream sometimes of a quieter life, perhaps back in Iowa with some land and adopted dogs and more quiet than perhaps I think I can bare. But I'm betting I'd still hear these sirens; I'd still feel the connection, the need to answer where I can and place myself among everyone who becomes someone who is myself or someone like me.