It was a party. Friends and loved ones and a cake so heavily candled that it looks like wildfire in the photos popping up on Facebook this morning.
It was the first part of a weekend that’s taking me away from this city, this weird addictive city that can’t decide if it wants to treat us well or shoddy hour by hour.
I don’t know where I’m going.
That’s not a deep, existential question. It’s literally a surprise weekend for my birthday. I’ve got a good woman.
It’s a short one today, mostly because I’m writing this Saturday morning while making her wait to start our weekend. I promised I would have Monday’s story done beforehand and I didn’t.
But a thought as I type these words at the start of a wonderful, unknown weekend and you read them on Labor Day, at the end of your own weekend of beaches and grilled meat: I would have wanted to know more a five or six years ago.
I would have tried to piece it together and suss out the mystery of what we’re doing just to prove how damn smart I am.
But when you have people you love and respect in your life, the trust comes easy. I know I’m going to love wherever this unknown weekend takes me.
So happy Labor Day, Chicago. I hope all your weekends are unknown mysteries that, because of the people you’re with, you can’t wait to let happen.