A RISK BY SABREENA SALEEM
I TAKE THE BLUE LINE to work and I always get off at Clark/Lake and walk down Wells toward Randolph to get to my office. Over the course of a year and a half, I've gotten pretty familiar with all of the restaurants and shops along the way. One day, I noticed a newly renovated space with "COMING SOON" signs plastered in the windows. Everyday, as I exited the blue line at Wells & Lake, I'd glance at the new space and notice its progress. When I think about my commute to work, what words come to mind are "bland," "mundane," and "repetitive," so to see something that was new and growing became exciting to me - even for a moment.
When I finally saw a "Now Open" sign, I remember feeling some sort of relief and excitement, as if I had somehow contributed to its completion. When I reached my office, I immediately did a quick google search to see what the restaurant had to offer. After about 20 different searches, I gave up and figured it was just too new to show up on Google. I remember being bothered by that. I mean, everyday, I walked past that space and I watched it start as empty space and metamorphose into something that was living and breathing. And now the internet was telling me it didn't exist. I continued to search for the restaurant's website or placement on Google Maps every few days until finally, it actually showed up.
I was satisfied. I had no idea what the restaurant had to offer, and I wondered if people liked it. I found the menu on Yelp, and after reviewing it, there was actually nothing I really wanted. They all seemed like solid options, but to be honest, there was another spot just two blocks away that had those and even more. Still, I was fascinated with its existence. I checked a few more times over the course of a couple months, seeing if maybe they reworked the menu, but eventually, I stopped thinking about it and the 9 a.m. glances dwindled.
One day, not too long ago on my usual commute to work, I decided to look up from the concrete I stared at everyday, and I glanced at the restaurant. To my astonishment a "For Lease" sign hung in the window. The restaurant had been shut down and cleared out. I remember feeling disappointed. I thought about how excited the owners must have been watching their dream come to life - how commuters just like me may have noticed its development. And I thought about what it must have been like to watch its parents' dream quickly diminish and ultimately fail. I wondered if any other passers-by felt the same dismay I did seeing the sign in the window.
As I walked down Wells toward Randolph just as I do everyday, I raised my chin, lifted my eyes from the concrete, and I looked up at the sky. I did this the entire way to the office and I kept thinking about the owners of the restaurant. I remember feeling melancholy. But the sadness I felt was quickly taken over by a rush of hopefulness and inspiration. I started to think about how many times I've failed and how many times it's broken me. And I thought about how many times I've motivated myself to keep trying despite those failures. I hoped the owners didn't let one defeat - possibly one of many - shatter their hope and optimism toward the world and success.
I have no idea who these people are, and I have no idea how they felt. But when I looked up at the sky, I had the realization that life will disappoint you, and the world will test you. But you can't allow it to stop you. For a long time, I've allowed disappointment to kill my ability to feel excitement. I've let heart-break prevent me from being open to love. And I've let failure drown my desire to even try. But this is not me. This is fear.
Those restaurant owners were brave. They took a risk and they failed. But had they never tried, they would have never felt that glimmer of hope and that rush of excitement I imagine they felt opening the restaurant. And neither would I. So on that day, I promised myself to stop hiding, to stop running, and to stop being the only thing holding me back from being happy. I decided that I will not allow the world to destroy my hope and fill me with negativity because that's not the person I want to be. I want to feel excited. I want to feel positive. And I want to feel hope. That day, I realized you can't feel life's highs without risking feeling its lows. So I'm going to take risks. I'm going continue to be open, forgiving, and kind. I will still fail and I will still feel pain - the only difference is I'm not afraid of hurting anymore. I hope they aren't either.
