The soft life has a learning curve

Peace sounds simple. Learning to live with it isn't.

The biggest and best rainbow I’ve ever seen, spotted in my new neighborhood on Wednesday, Aug. 5, 2026 at 7:33 p.m.

Last night, I looked up and saw a rainbow stretching across my new neighborhood.

I stood there for a moment, taking in the kind of beauty that makes you stop and pay attention.

Hummingbirds have become regular visitors outside my balcony. The squirrels around here seem to have endless energy, turning sticks into toys and the courtyard into their own playground. Every morning reminds me that this place moves to a different rhythm than the one I left behind.

The surprising part isn’t everything I’ve noticed since moving.

It’s everything I’ve noticed about myself.

I’m still walking too fast. Still rushing through errands. Still fighting the urge to honk the instant a traffic light turns green.

Changing my address happened in a day.

Changing myself has taken a little longer.

I didn’t expect slowing down to be something I’d have to work at.

The quiet has been the biggest adjustment.

After nearly nine years of city living, I became intimately familiar with how much energy it took simply to navigate life. Sirens in the middle of the night. Noisy neighbors. Remembering street cleaning and snow removal days. Searching for parking. Wondering if I had forgotten something that would cost me another ticket. Another inconvenience. Another headache.

When you live with that long enough, it stops feeling like stress. It just feels like life.

Now, nearly everything I need is within a three-mile radius. My preferred gas station and grocery stores. My new gym. An incredible library. Parks and walking paths. Golf. Bowling. Restaurants and bars.

Parker’s school is virtually across the street. In less than two weeks, she’ll start seventh grade, and for the first time she’ll be able to take the school bus from my house. She can walk. Ride her bike. Simply enjoy the freedom of being close to the places that make up her everyday life.

The geography of our lives has changed. So has the way they feel.

But places don’t just shape our routines. They shape our instincts.

And Chicago changed me.

For 8 1/2 years, I learned a rhythm that came with living in a big city. Move with purpose. Pay attention. Stay aware. Get where you’re going. Don’t waste time.

That rhythm served me well.

It challenged me, sharpened me, taught me resilience and became a home I never expected to love so much. It taught me how to move through uncertainty, adapt and keep going when things weren’t easy. It gave me stories, perspective and a version of myself I wouldn’t trade.

Chicago didn’t just shape where I lived. It shaped how I lived.

That’s what I’m noticing now: I brought more of Chicago with me than I realized.

I’m still figuring out which parts of that rhythm I want to carry with me and which ones I’m ready to let go of.

I still rush through errands that don’t require rushing. And I want to honk when the car in front of me doesn’t immediately move when the light turns green.

Those instincts still show up before I do.

Our circumstances changed overnight. My habits are taking their time.

The neighborhood has slowed down.

I’m learning that peace has its own pace.

I’m still catching up.