Tiptoeing Around (56/90)

It’s 11:33 P.M., Chicago time on Friday.  I’m sitting at the desk in my hotel room. It is quiet.

I’m writing this in my journal, which I’ve learned to carry at all times, for moments like these. Two of my three roommates for the night are sleeping only a few short steps away from me.

I’m scared to wake them by writing on my laptop, as is my nightly ritual. And these hand written words won’t be typed and published until the morning. Plus, there’s no free wi-fi in the rooms at the Hyatt, and after the long shower I just took to clear my head I don’t feel like leaving the room.

***

It’s been a long, wonderful day. I’ve been up and surrounded by people since 5 A.M.

By the time we were halfway through dinner at Quartinos, passing plates back and forth, I’d reached my Social Output max. That may be a misleading statement because I absolutely love being with interesting people. And today I have been.

But I always reach my limit, and it’s never anything personal. But at some point I always turn inward, my thoughts become heavier and I get quiet.  This happened last night while I was sitting in one of the rooms with 4 or 5 girls sipping wine.

It didn’t help that I was exhausted and full, and drinking. Thankfully though, the mood shift happened gradually today; I started out laughing and singing in the car on the drive to the city and remained pretty excited and social throughout. When we got to dinner though, I began to wind down.

I was beginning to long for a few long moments of solitude. For the writing.

***

It’s 9:22 A.M. Chicago time on Saturday. I’m sitting at Descartes, a coffee shop downtown, sipping a vanilla caramel latte. I’m sitting at the bar looking out the window watching the passerbys.

I found myself stirring in the bed far before everyone else. I slipped out of bed at 7:15, got dressed grabbed my bag, left a quick note on the desk, and headed out.

My friend Hannah just joined me at the café and we will soon be off for breakfast and some exploring.

 “I saw you in the morning, and thought man, you’re serious about this writing thing," she said.

I didn’t set an alarm last night, again for fear of waking the others. But I got up energetically, hit the streets, and found my writing spot.

I may always be apologizing for my need to go off and write; tiptoeing around in the wee hours of the morning, and sneaking out, but this is my life.

I’ve always thought that I was made for the city.

Now I’m starting believe that I was made for this life, too.