Oh Minneapolis,

I have a confession to make. I never wanted to leave you. When I decided to attend graduate school in Chicago, a naive part of me believed everything would be the same. I thought my connection to my family and friends would overpower the 7-hour distance, but all it did was keep me from embracing the lifestyle I could’ve had here. In every neighborhood I explored, I sought small reminders of you. I thought about your crunchy leaves falling into the muddy grass. I thought about the bright sun glistening off your frozen lakes. I even thought about, and grieved, the pink, peachy skies your summer sunsets painted. I made new connections, tasted Chicago flavors, and slowly fell in love with the city. I embraced everything my new home showcased to me: the blue line, the endless taco shops, and why it’s nicknamed the “windy city”. I started to see myself differently. I wasn’t a daughter, a dancer, an older sister, or a best friend in Chicago, and that scared me. Who could I be if not related to other people? Who could I be if not related to responsibilities? I still tried to be all those things when my family and friends needed me, but I overextended myself. As I learned to let loose and let go of the self-image you gifted me, your reminders turned into nostalgia. Your leaves, lakes, and sunsets became symbols of Minnesota, and not just moments I missed and grieved.

I wanted to tell you about the first friend I made in Chicago. This was a few months after moving into my new apartment. I made a friend through an online app. We met up at a cafe, walked around the neighborhood, and had already made inside jokes in our friendship. It was a sunny autumn day with a slight wind chill. It felt familiar to me. It reminded me of you, but in a way that didn’t hold me back. It reminded me of the friends I made because of you. I was nervous to make a friend as an adult, but those fears disappeared once I realized I could trust you. I was comforted by the way you taught me to connect and engage with others; how you taught me to relate and love others. It was one of my better days since moving.

When I got back to my apartment after our hangout, there was a package waiting for me. It was a going-away/thank-you gift from my old dance bosses. In the package, there was a T-shirt from the studio’s 10th anniversary event that I missed because I was moving. Before I knew it, tears were dripping from my face and onto the shirt. It was an odd feeling. For a moment, it felt like my two worlds were clashing in front of me rather than in my head. It was odd how both moments brought me joy, guilt, love, and grievances at the same time. I loved making a new friend, but a part of me grieved moving on from you. I also loved the gift from my bosses, but another part of me felt guilty about missing an important event, not just for them, but for the whole community. It was an odd feeling because I experienced myself as both identities at the same time. I wasn’t sad, just lonely.

It’s almost been a year since moving away from you. I still find it hard to live or see myself without your soft, flurries of snow or your beautiful playgrounds. I’m still learning to hold onto your memories while letting your lessons help me navigate the world. Oh, Minneapolis. Thank you for your love, but I have another confession to make. I have to let you go. I don’t mean I’ll forget you. I have to let go of everything you allowed me to be. I have to let myself go from the love and memories you make me seek here. Maybe in a few years, when I’ve matured, I will return to you. I will always belong to you. I will always look for you. This new lifestyle calls for me to embrace it fully with open arms, and I think I’m ready to say goodbye to you. I trust you’ve prepared me to do that.

Goodbye, but not forever.

Best,

Lyla