I've recently returned from Chicago, where I was attending a work conference, and I'm amazed at how hard it's been to come home. Part of it is that I lived a decade and a half in the Chicagoland area, so the city always feels welcoming and friendly when I visit, and I remember what it was like to live there—with friends close by, in the house I knew by heart, when my dad was still alive. But I also spent this trip with two of my best friends: a former work colleague attending the same conference and сестра, who is still local after all these decades.

I don't want to live in Chicago. It's too cold for me, and the charms of the city are more apparent when you're just visiting than when you live there. But it was very easy to imagine what it would be like to ramble through parks and to museums, to look forward to cocktails and dinner with my best friends, to know that I'd have hours each week when I'd get to see them in person and just talk about anything and everything.

I know that's just dreams—both of my best friends don't even live in the area. But it's still hard to come home to dire drama on the HOA board and a house needing repairs and my dearest friends available only through video calls and chatrooms. It doesn't help that Dragon and Rose Red and all their -lings are now officially out of state, unavailable for me to simply drop in with books for the kids and a casual conversation about whatever's on our minds in the moment.

I liked so much how everyone was so close and accessible during the pandemic. Literally everything else was terrible, but I got to be my hoard-y dragon self and keep everyone I loved at my fingertips. Even the people who were out of state were so easily reached, and while I know it's very important that things are back to normal, I miss that so much. Every time I think I've made peace with this, some new facet of loss gleams at me and I have to learn how to cope with the sadness and the loneliness all over again.

I'll do it. I always do. I have books and coffee and Korean lessons and a job I love to help me. And I still have all these people. They're still here, even if they're farther away and a little harder to reach.