A couple of months ago my family and I left our peaceful, agrarian community in Oregon to fulfill a vision of life amidst the grit and glam of a major city. Chicago sounded like a pretty liveable place in terms of cost and general attitude, so we decided, mostly because we knew more about it than LA or NYC, to move here. Before setting out, I had romantic visions of living in a third story lofted apartment complete with a fire escape and unfinished, caramel colored wood flooring. I imagined a fairly simple transition, wherein my partner and I would find full time work straight away, and would somehow immediately start producing some of the best art either of us had ever come up with. Instead, we're scraping by the way most people do when they move to a new place unemployed and homeless. Things will settle in time, but for now, don't be surprised if my entries come to you with a hint of homesickness. I come from a very unique place where odd is normal and even celebrated; a small city surrounded by lush forests and fields of organically growing goodness; a place where adults are allowed to be kids and kids are respected as adults; a place that I might just have to return to.