Cleveland Diary
Wednesday
I am writing this from the 6th floor of the Cleveland City Public Library, overlooking the Fountain of Eternal Life (its backside, really), and from what I can see, it’s beautiful. The glistening sun is making the water sparkle so vividly that I can see it from here. To get to the library, I took a nice 10-minute walk from my AirBnB loft at the heart of Downtown Cleveland. Walking down a few streets lined with brick and windows, with sidewalks full of new faces felt like I was in my own episode of Sex and the City (minus the sex). Before surrendering to my Carrie Bradshaw dreams, I first researched if there was parking at the library. It’s silly because I’d always planned to visit the library on my last full day here, but found myself plagued by the possibility of accessible parking or lack thereof to the point I almost opted to miss out. Even writing this in reflection, I feel ridiculous in the notion–when did I, the lady who was without reliable transportation for two years, become so unwilling to use my feet and walk to the places I want to go? Most importantly, when did I start to shy away from adventure?
Don’t worry, I got myself together and strapped on my backpack–fully equipped with everything I needed to be in the city wilderness, by the way–and journeyed my way to the library. The following is a somewhat organized collection of the many thoughts in my head while doing so.
Life has a funny way of showing us where we belong or desire to.
The experiences we have show us where and when we feel the most comfortable. The more we live, the more we learn how we want to live. For example, I didn’t know I liked being in the city (referring to heavily populated cities with big downtown areas, lots of Black/diverse culture, and walkability/ample public transportation) until I moved to Nashville, where some of those things are lacking to me, personally. And just to cross all my T’s, I’m not saying downtown Nashville isn’t big, and that it doesn’t have Black/diverse culture–I do believe, however, that downtown feels more tourist-y than anything, and that Black community was, and still is, so hard to find and burrow oneself into. And although one can classify Nashville as a big city, I think it feels less of a city on a cultural aspect if you aren’t directly downtown or in its close surrounding areas.
To stay on topic, here I am in a city where I’ve seen countless Black faces. I’ve seen endless artwork, Black + queer spaces, and where I’m staying downtown feels like a cozy nest that I’ve enjoyed navigating. It doesn’t feel tourist-y either. It feels like everyone I passed by was on a mission that didn’t involve exploration. Just existence. People were walking dogs, walking to/from work, entering and exiting hotels, and generally minding their business. And I like that–passive interaction with humanity where it’s apparent we’re all wrapped up in our own silly little lives. There is a sense of peace I gain from coexistence with humans. We’re all just tiny specks on a ginormous planet, shaping and forming our individual perceptions of that. And although this city feels oddly familiar to the Detroit living I grew up with, its differences still scream at me like a newborn child in the night. Though I felt somewhat comfortable trailing the streets of downtown Cleveland, I couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place and self-conscious because of it. With the amount of people here existing in familiarity, dabbling about their lives in normalcy, could they tell I was not? Could they recognize the pauses in my steps as uncertainty in going the right direction? At the AirBNB, did the longtime residents of the luxury loft building see me hesitate to scan my key fob on the elevator? Did they know I wasn’t one of them? And if so, did they silently, but briefly condemn me for it?
I like to think humanity, as diverse as we are, share a common thread somewhere within the fibers of our complicated and endless DNA. And although every city is different in all its ways, I like to think that they all share a commonality: they all exist under the same sky, and for that, everyone is immediately connected. Each space feels familiar, no matter what city you roam.
And I decided I want to keep having these kinds of experiences–where I walk streets I’d never heard of under a sky that I’ve seen all my life. I know I want to live in both comfort and accessibility. Although I’ve lived in Nashville for six years now, I know it’s not my final space. I know I am not my happiest here. There are things to love about the city, but it doesn’t make my heart beat the way I want it to. I want to love where I live, and feel comfortable existing there. And before you get too carried away in your interpretation of this part, I’m not saying I want to move to Cleveland. I’m not saying I want to move right now. I’m saying this short trip here makes me hopeful there are cities that have what I think my current city lacks. Being here has shown me that I want to live close to the heart of a city. It’s shown me that I like coexisting amongst other people more than I’ve cared to admit.
That, more than anything, is a realization that makes me want to keep exploring new spaces. I figure the more I explore and the more I experience, the more I can become aligned on my sense of belonging. I think what I’ve wanted most is to find where I effortlessly fit, and I am motivated more than ever to try doing so. I’ve been soaking up every last bit of this trip, truly using this time to explore more about myself and what I feel about life currently, and it’s led to a taste of enlightenment. Within the very complicated puzzle that is my life + purpose, I find that I’ve recognized yet another piece to add. I’ll keep adding pieces to the puzzle as I continue to live.
Sunday
It’s been three days since my triumphant return and immediate plunge back into my ‘normal’ life. In all honesty, I find myself struggling to adjust (or readjust) to my old reality. Four days of wandering an upscale apartment at the heart of downtown without any responsibility except sticking to a daily budget of $300 has altered my brain chemistry. Though I found love in the weavings of my intricate, niche, but overloaded life, taking a step away from its demands felt like a sweet dream; a release I did not know I needed. I feel almost unprepared in leaving it behind, though I always knew it was temporary. I typically combat this inevitable feeling by making sure I return to a clean house, and that’s usually enough. This time, it isn’t. Though my house was clean, I found myself annoyed by the lack of the carpet, the old-fashioned refrigerator, and the lack of windows. Every time I had to drive somewhere, I scoffed at the fact I don’t live on a busy street near lots of businesses, allowing me to walk. When Zayna would call my name for the 5th time in 10-minutes, I’d let out a sigh of frustration in memory of not having any parental responsibility during my trip. This badge of comparison weighed heavily on my chest, and since my return, I’ve been living in a slump of discouragement.
I know that if I plan to have more experiences, I must fortify a better relationship with their limitations. Experiences, good and bad, are temporary. My normal life must not suffer the consequences of my inability to close a temporary chapter.
Within the errors I am tallying in my mind, I feel guilt. This life is 10x better than past lives I’ve suffered through, and I should work harder to acknowledge that. I suppose it’s my job to continue building a life that I’m happy to return to after my adventures.
-Z
Oh, and here are some pictures I took while exploring downtown Cleveland:
