Spotting a True Chicagoan
Amid the second snow storm of this season.
There are three ways to tell apart a true Chicagoan:
They know that thin crust is the real Chicago pizza, not deep dish. (Okay, this might invite some violent reactions!)
They call the downtown Macy’s Marshall Fields.
They know what Giardinera is when you ask for it in a restaurant.
But to me, the best way to spot them is in the winter. Chicago ain’t called a windy city for nothing. Those who aren’t from here are quick to discourage transplants like me.
But true Chicagoans are tough. They’re forthright although they practice Midwestern niceties. They don’t downplay the cold; they treat it as a matter of fact. All you got to do is bundle up, they say.
This forthrightness was what emboldened me to pack my bags and leave everything I love in California—year-round great weather included.
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Weathering the Cold as a New Immigrant
Being born in the Middle Eastern desert and raised in the Southeast Asian tropics, I barely survived my first US winter. Just to let you know, we’re not even talking about Chicago winters yet. I was in Bakersfield then where summers were bakin’.
Nonetheless, two things helped me get by: my mom’s winter wardrobe and a great central heating system at my parents’ home where my daughter and I stayed first. Winter clothes can be quite expensive; figuring out styles that are apt and fashionable is another thing. For new immigrants, completing a winter ensemble may take some time.
All the above inspired me to start a traveling shop, Joyful Lifestyles, two years ago. It’s currently dormant as I refocus on my main business.
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Resilience through Resource
One of the books I read this fall was Ilene Smith’s Moving Beyond Trauma: The Roadmap to Healing from Your Past and LIving with Ease and Vitality. For those of us with dysregulated nervous systems because of past traumatic experiences, becoming aware of the resources that we have at our disposal helps activate our sense of safety.
Ilene categorized resources as external and internal. External resources are persons, places, or things that make us feel safe such as a confidante, beloved pet, hiking trail, or teddy bear. (For Chicagoans, this means investing in long puffer jackets and winter boots!)
As an immigrant, I feel fortunate to have my parents as my primary external resources. I did not have to worry about living conditions because they offered my daughter and me a home when I began with no income and credit history. The professional coaching connections I’ve made intentionally while quarantined in Manila during the pandemic also led me to opportunities to earn decently despite a lack of US-issued degree and experience. Lastly, the small business support from my hometown in Bakersfield, as well as some affinity groups opened many doors for me to which I am forever grateful.
Some immigrants may not have the same resources. This why I am taking the time to also write about internal resources. They are the intrinsic qualities that we naturally have and cultivate. For me, I know that I am smart, resilient, and resourceful. I have survived countless hardships and heartaches as a solo parent and an immigrant woman in midlife. I also know that I have a good heart and a sincere disposition toward the good, which helps me forgive myself for my own transgressions. Most of all, I am deeply spiritual—I believe in God who is much larger than my faith.
If you are figuring out your own resources, I’d be happy to be your resource. Feel free to contact me for appointments and inquiries. In the meantime, here’s a tip: Besides listing down what you have and what’s accessible, also make an effort to add and build to what you already have.
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Beauty as a Resource
There’s a special piece of art that had prepared me for what’s beginning to look like Chicago’s coldest and snowiest winter in years.
A kind gesture led to this breathtaking view!
Back in the summer I first visited Chicago, I wandered into the Fine Arts Building and came out changed in ways I shall disclose in later posts. N—, the elevator operator who treated his job like a sacred calling, led me to an unobstructed view of the Chicago Fountain and Lake Michigan, not commonly accessible to both guests and locals.
Am I sentient?
I also met Alyson Lyon, a local artist who understood my comparisons between Chicago and California, and musings about car culture and Jungian transformation. It didn’t take her long to show me one of her private art works—Division and Paulina, two intersecting streets in West Town where I later moved to an AirBNB by happenstance. She painted it on a dreary winter day while also writing about evoking hope through the senses as one leaves behind toxic energies.
This painting now sits at my home office. It has become a sort of lucky charm, expanding my threshold for autumn chills and helping me survive two (pre-)winter storms in a matter of six weeks. Most of all, I held on to the hope it promised in one of my grayest weeks here that only God, myself, and you know.
One day, my healing will be complete.
