Makenna Hardy moved to Baltimore in 2010. Her lease on her Hampden home was up December 31st and she had to make a decision: Does she want to stay in Baltimore or does she go explore another city? Over the past six weeks, she brought us along on her journey as she explored what Baltimore has to offer, before making her final decision.
Lunchtime can be challenging for all of us. Modern technology has provided us with too many decisions and not enough time to make them. A few weeks ago, for instance, I was torn between two pre made salads. The “Super Spinach Salad” enticed me with its colorful cranberries, tangible tomatoes, and super spinach of course. I didn’t buy it because there wasn’t any meat. I needed chicken in my life.
The only salad with chicken was presented to me on a bed of tasteless lettuce and accompanied by two measly tomatoes. A passerby noticed the bewildered look on my face, the look that could only express the challenge of choosing between two salads, the look that told him it was too much for me to handle. I think “The Scream” by Edvard Munch accurately depicts that look.
The passerby had had enough. He handed me his card and introduced himself as a psychotherapist. I told him I was just looking for a salad, but he walked away and urged me to keep his card “for a friend.” A good psychotherapist would have helped me pick out a salad.
Whitesnake played, Here I Go Again On My Own and I reached for the ‘Super Spinach Salad.’ The chickens on a nearby farm applauded.
My ability to make a decision, whether it is a salad or a city, has always been sub par. If you have been reading my articles, the salads I have been choosing between are Philadelphia and Baltimore. My lease was up on December 31st and I had to make a decision. By December 31st I was still undecided. Instead of living on the street, I decided to sublease a friend’s house nearby.
When I started writing the articles in mid-November, I assumed my lust for adventure could not be contained within the walls of Baltimore. I never disliked Baltimore. Baltimore was home and I needed a vacation, maybe a year long vacation. I had compared Baltimore to a moldy cheeseburger left in the fridge growing a tiny bit stale (with some good parts still there of course).
Over the course of the next few weeks, I realized I really didn’t know Baltimore at all. I had been living a lie. The ancient proverb, “When you never leave your living room, you aren’t going to learn much about the city you live in” rang true. The fact that this is most likely not an ancient proverb because I just made it up is also true.
My first adventure was the Baltimore RAW artist awards. A society of talented artists came out of their creative lairs and into the light of day. I watched a girl dance with a rope in mid air (she survived), soulful sounds fell on my tone deaf ears and my definition of watercolor changed a little thanks to artist Gel Jamlang who later learned won the national awards.
After reading some feedback from the RAW awards article, I was told moving to another part of Baltimore would be like moving to another city. I began to explore Station North a bit. I got a bit overzealous when I came across City Arts Apartments, affordable housing for artists. I called an old friend and we agreed to live there together. We poured over the floor plans and fantasized about decorating.
If you are going to fantasize about moving to an apartment, I recommend calling the apartment complex first. My enthusiasm came to a halt, when I discovered that there wouldn’t be an opening until the summer. I didn’t think we would make it on the streets that long. I’d imagine I would probably only survive until mid April.
Then a tragedy occurred while I tailgated outside the Ravens Steelers game. If, I haven’t mentioned this previously, I attempt to call myself an artist at times. This particular day I brought a few Ravens themed prints to sell to fans. Sadly we lost the game.
As fans mourned, I watched people start to throw things in a bonfire. Someone accidentally grabbed the folder with my prints and I watched my purple birds turn to ash. I took this as a sign that I was destined to move.
I mourned the loss of the game and the loss of my prints for a few days, but as the proverb says, ‘time heals all wounds and so does bike riding across a city in pajamas in December.’ I participated in Baltimore Bike Party where I was introduced to the most wonderful group of insane people I had ever met. I talked about this event with such enthusiasm that my parents got me a bike helmet for Christmas. I don’t have a bike yet, but now I am obligated.
Meanwhile I looked towards Philadelphia. I was told to look at Northern Liberties because it was the Hampden of Philly. In the back of my mind I wondered why I was leaving Hampden to look for another Hampden.
Forbes rated Northern Liberties 14 on the list of Best Hipster Neighborhoods and Hampden was only 15. As an aspiring hipster this was a big deal, but then I figured the hippest neighborhoods are lower on the list because they are too cool to be listed as hip, or something like that. The list was obsolete.
My thoughts bounced back and forth like ping-pong balls in an elevator. Then I got off the elevator and discovered my inner Buddhist. I was unaware that he had been residing down the street at Charles Village’s Shambhala center this whole time. During my instructional meditation class I learned to deal with my thoughts by not thinking about them. No more elevators, I was going to have to take the stairs.
Regretfully, I think I meditated for about three minutes after the class. When your thoughts are focused on moving, staying still is the last thing you want to do. I wanted to keep in touch with my inner buddist, so I actually went tonight. I found it a lot easier now that I am not thinking about moving. Where? Keep reading.
A few days before the apocalypse, I visited the American Visionary Art Museum. It had been on my imaginary bucket list for quite some time. I saw a ball of bra’s, a mirrored mosaic egg, and even some ‘post secret’ post cards. I texted my boyfriend that I understood the meaning of life. If the world were going to end, this would be an alright time. Luckily, it didn’t, because I didn’t even get to see the whole museum.
Christmas happened. Santa ate my cookies.
I started to move out and into my sublet down the street. The agreement was until February 1st, my first experience in buying time.
New years eve brought me to Five Guys where I devoured a bacon cheeseburger overlooking the Harbor. I realized that this was meant to be. The cheeseburger was delicious.
Shortly after New Years, a few friends called me looking for a roommate in Hampden. I was introduced to a lovely house right off the avenue. The rent was so cheap we joked that someone must have died in the house. Knock on wood, hardwood that is. Yes, nice hardwood floors.
This was my opportunity. Did I want to stay? It was a simple yes or no answer, spinach or chicken.
As I sat and pondered my choices, my sublet roommate brought in produce from the Baltimore Free Farm down. I had never been. Another sign, that I still had much exploring to do. I stared at a head of lettuce as if it were a magic eight ball. It told me to stay.
Whether it is a head of lettuce or a burning bird, signs are everywhere. Ultimately you have the power to choose what you want to do and I chose Baltimore. I finally made a decision.
There are still so many things to do and see here. I think I am attending a magic show this weekend. I also want to go to the Rotunda for $6 movie night next week. I just checked out the Baltimore Free Farm website and learned that you can volunteer on Saturdays.
Now my challenge is deciding what I want to do while I am here. Life is rough.
But first I must call the psychotherapist and let him know I made a decision about the salad.
