I’ve been digitally picking flowers along my walks, frequently asking Mitch to pause while I take a picture of a flower. My interest in photography started in 2005 and has helped me feel more connected with myself, my surroundings, and other people. Dating me does mean occasionally pausing on my behalf while I take a picture of something, but I’m mindful to limit how often or when I ask. There are places to go, appointments to keep, countless things to see, and if I really want to photograph every other storefront along a city block, I’m capable of returning on my own time.

Also, I want to remain capable of enjoying less-mediated experiences. In the last of my Columbia years (the post-hubby era), I shared selfies taken in my seat before nearly every movie I saw at Ragtag Cinema. The lighting in the main theater was reliably sufficient, and I tended to show up half an hour before the show started, giving me time alone in a mostly empty room. If the theater was already filling in, I didn’t bother, but it was a fun way to remind myself and assure my friends that I enjoy my own company. But, between the fact that I’m usually not in my own company when I see a movie in Chicago and the theaters tending to be dimmer and more crowded here, I decided to stop trying to document how cute I look while waiting until it’s time to silence my phone. Fortunately, nobody has expressed their personal disappointment about this decision. (Anyone curious to know what movies I’ve been watching can follow me on Letterboxd.) And, more importantly, this decision hasn’t lessened my experience of going to the movies.

Lately, I’ve gone on solo outings with my earbuds in, but nothing playing. After decades of engaging with the world from within a sonic bubble, I like that I no longer feel the need to insulate myself with music. Sometimes I’ll listen to the new Ladytron album while riding the train, but it feels more intentional and less like I’m trying to avoid something or stay moored within my thoughts.

This new tendency also confers safety benefits and gives me more opportunities to hear city birds. While waiting for a train the other day, I heard a ring-billed gull flying towards the North River. I love it here.

*Yes, this is based on Steven Wright joke’s about owning the world’s largest seashell collection.

Attempts to devise an explanation that sounds more interesting than “I guess I didn’t feel like updating” will only prolong the next update. So, gap acknowledged. Let’s try to get this blog back on track.

About once a week, I take a break from my job search to go on a solo exploration. With the weather warming up, I’ve been making excursions to the lakeshore.

My mind hasn’t fully grasped the size of Lake Michigan. Looking across the water reminds me of gazing at the Pacific Ocean when I grew up in California. I know the next shore is closer, but I still can’t see it.

I used to swim in the ocean in my teens, but don’t feel inclined to jump in the lake anytime soon. My youthful sense of immortality ebbed as my knowledge of the dangers of swimming in natural bodies of water flowed. I’d board a boat, but I’m not inclined to plunge into any water that isn’t chlorinated. I’ve watched too many bad TLC series in hotel rooms to go underwater in a lake without worrying about inhaling a snootful of brain-eating amoebas. I overcame a childhood fear of drowning only to have it replaced with another horrifying fear.

Acknowledging this new anxiety genuinely makes me feel old, in a way that memes pointing out that the gap between the present and Back to the Future has exceeded the 30-year time gap within the film can’t quite muster.

I’ve explored Montrose and Diversey harbors so far, though I’ve neglected to jot the down the punny names of any boats moored at their respective marinas. Montrose Beach features a bird sanctuary. While walking through the sanctuary during migration season, my birdsong recognition app made my phone heat up as it sorted out the cacophony of trills, caws, and chirps. The sanctuary includes a stretch of shoreline reserved for nesting piping plovers. Onlookers crowded the perimeter on both sides to peer through binoculars and telephoto lenses. I purchased a monocular online with plans to return to see the chicks hatch in June.

A few weeks later, I tried out my monocular at Belmont Rocks near Diversey harbor, a part of the lakeshore presumably named for the massive rocks buttressing the seawall. (Is it a seawall if it’s not holding back a sea? I’ll look into that someday.) I was able to observe some off-shore structures, including the William E. Dever Crib lighthouse, which looks like a circus tent. Unfortunately, the lighthouse doesn’t permit visitors, so I’ll need to board a boat someday to get a closer look. Or buy a better monocular.

Not far from Belmont Rocks is AIDS Garden Chicago, a city memorial that features Self-Portrait, a 30-foot metal sculpture by Keith Haring. I love how this sculpture changes mood as you circle it, running from one angle, celebrating from another, and righteously angry a few degrees later. I like not knowing if, in my above photo, this sculpture is excited about spring or furious about the dandelions blanketing his lawn.

I later spotted Canadian geese nibbling fluffy dandelion hands while a mallard drake tailed me, quacking and hoping I might drop some bread. But the city enacts fines for feeding wild animals. Any food that might appeal to a duck would likely appeal to a rat. And right now, it’s in my best interest to stay in the city’s good graces. Sorry, ducks. I know it’s a cliched statement said by people with awful opinions, but I don’t make the rules.

Also, I thought city birds were afraid of women. What gives?