Page 36 of The Girl with No Name

Personally I can attest that on the first seventy degree day hit I can feel the seasonal depression lifting from my body.

I’m not from here originally—I was born and raised in Houston—but a couple of years ago, when I was living in Florida, I had an experience at an EDM festival that scarred me for life and as a result, I ended up here.

I won’t go into full detail, but let’s just say I got on a boat off the coast of Miami and woke up in New York, andsomehowI escaped out of the building I was in.

I don’t mean to be dramatic—but it was, actually, quite dramatic. I’d never been religious really until that day, when I prayed and through divine intervention I made it out.

That was a couple of years ago.

After that, I moved here to live with my aunt.

Aunt Sarah is my mother’s oldest sibling, and she took me in with no questions asked. At the time I was still processing everything I’d been through, so that was very much appreciated. With no kids of her own, Aunt Sarah has a sort of pseudo-Grandmother relationship to me.

I spent the following year and a half of my twenties figuring out how I’d gotten myself into a situation that I was determined never to get into again.

It was a deep healing period. I had to separate myself from my old life and from some habits that might not have been the healthiest for me. Aunt Sarah paid for therapy, and she even recommended that I start coming to church with her. She didn’t insist that I adopt her beliefs or anything like that, she just said it would be ‘good personal reflective time with others.’ This didn’t make sense to me at first to have ‘reflective time with others,’ but after a while I came to enjoy the paradox she was referring to.

Aunt Sarah, I’m learning, is full of paradoxes.

Then there was the yoga, the stacks of self-help books, the podcasts, learning to meditate, everything. It wasn’t easy, and it felt like I was becoming someone totally new. In some ways, that was true. I was shedding my old skin.

Now, a year and ten months later, I’m still “me” but in Chicago I have new friends, a new job bartending, and I’ve moved into my own place.

What I once viewed as a traumatic experience that I wanted to forget about forever, I now think of as the catalyst for me to make changes I already knew in my heart I needed in my life.

I hate to say it because it makes me sound needy, but if I had to say one thing that is missing?

It would be a boyfriend. I’ve yet to date since I’ve moved here.

“I think I’m going to start opening myself up to dating,” I tell Aunt Sarah over coffee today, as I look out at Lake Michigan, enjoying the gorgeous view from her north side luxury apartment.

I chuckle inwardly, thinking that being single for your whole life has it’s perks. I love Aunt Sarah, and I love her life, too.

“Well, just make sure you hold out for the right one. You, my darling, are an incredibly special girl,” She says, cupping her hands around her espresso.

“Thanks,” I smile shyly.

“Darling.” She reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of mine. “I need to make sure you hear me. All girls are special, that’s true. But you areveryspecial. Once you’re in a man’s life, he’s going to become very successful. I’m so proud of everything you’ve done the past couple of years. Don’t become distrustful of men in general. But make sure you choose the right one.”

More paradoxes from Aunt Sarah. Big surprise.

“Do you trust my judgment?”

“I absolutely trust you. But that’s not what matters. What matter is that you learn to trust yourself. After all, you’re living life for you. Not for anyone else.”

“But I value your opinion.”

“And I appreciate that. But ultimately, it’s your responsibility to learn and grow from your decisions and experiences, which…” Her eyes dart toward the clock on the wall that has lighthouses for numbers. “Oh my goodness. I’m fifteen minutes late for a showing. Why does that always happen with our coffee chats?”

I smile. “Because I love listening to your wisdom.”

“I’m so glad you came by. Stay as long as you want, as usual. Love you, honey,” she says, and walks out of the apartment.

I sigh, looking out at the water again. It’s mid-morning, and I can see the first boats of the summer scuttling around on the water.

After I finish my coffee, I sit cross-legged on Aunt Sarah’s carpet, close my eyes, and try to manifest the perfect man: tall, handsome, charming, and—why not?—rich.

After finishingmy daytime shift bartending at the fancy restaurant where I work, I walk across the street to Marquee Lounge, my favorite neighborhood bar, to grab a drink like I often do.