The specific midwest

Since moving to Paris from Chicago, I’ve developed an increasingly violent sense of unknowing. Having been born by a large body of water, my emotional and intuitive abilities have been connected to water. While the Seine is a fine and valid form of H20, the magnetic pull of great lakes, oceans and seas trump in comparison. It’s difficult to describe exactly how I feel. It’s almost as if I’m wearing contacts that are too weak for my eyes. I can see, but not that far. I’ve had to depend on Hausmanian architecture and 2 euro bottles of wine to understand where I am and where I’m headed. The photo above was photographed by me on Chicago’s riverwalk on a particularly moody day. The air was thick with fog, enough to swim through. The air was warm and heavy and it was difficult to drive. All you could think about was how beautiful the fog made the city. It is different here in Paris, with the smog suffocating and disabling the hearts and brains of the angry Parisians. I always wondered why Parisians were so rude. They can’t see, breathe or feel regularly. Funnily enough, being away from the water has made me more spiritual, yet more skeptical of the tings around me. How could a woman from Chicago make it in a big city like Paris? With the best and brightest of each country immigrating to construct their identities in the world? What would I have to offer? I remember taking a trip to le Havre in January to breathe fresh air. The moments before walking towards the Baie de Seine were disorienting. I had no direction, I followed the seagulls to the rocky shores, my gaze fixed on a distant lighthouse. The sea met my gaze and pulled me in with each wave. I instantly knew what I was supposed to do and where I was supposed to be. Maybe this is why midwesterners are so emo.