Ohio, I'm leaving. Ohio... I'm gone?

 The moment I've been anxiously awaiting for months is now arriving at the end of a short week. Months fly by, even when the hours and days seem to stretch on. Moving Day is almost here. I made a list of people to see (and places to eat) back in January - every thing and one is nearly checked off the list.

By delaying departure until mid-March I was able to squeeze a lot of Cincinnati into a short amount of time. Loving on people, being able to wrap up experiences that defined so much of me for so long. Choir concerts, tutoring, fitness training, political parties, and even Bockfest - one of the liveliest, loveliest weekends in OTR - have all happened. It's been awesome to overcommit for just a little while longer.

I've made a promise - to myself and my guy - to not get involved *too much* in Baltimore for at least six months. Just teaching classes (hopefully), joining an inter mural sport, and perhaps the neighborhood association. No need to conquer the scene or flood the calendar with commitments. Beginning in B'more will be quieter and slower than the pace I've been used to - which is probably for the better.

It's been a delight to savor the mundane details around Cincy - trying to take the time to appreciate and enjoy all the quirks that make Queen City majestic. The men sharing Swisher Sweets and stories on the sidewalk outside the barbershop downstairs. The way the sun catches on the buildings as winter twilights give way to spring evenings. Smiling at strangers and friends/acquaintances alike - we've been sharing this neighborhood for a while now - community is contagious.

Anticipation mingles with sentimental longing and affection as I continue to put things into boxes. I can't begin to count the number of ways I've been blessed by the city - moreso by the people in it. People who've stood up for me and beside me, fighting to make Cincinnati better. People who've given me hope and encouragement, both when my crazy plans have fallen through and when they've (sometimes) succeeded. Mentors and role models. Partners in crime and team mates. Roomies, friends, frenemies, bar buddies, business partners, inspiration and consolation, all. I owe you for the countless drinks, hugs, compliments, love, support, and advice.

You are the ones who shaped my city. You gave me chances and helped me back up when I fell. We've rallied behind causes, started and supported new ventures, and contributed to the success and joy and excitement that the center city is finally experiencing.

I sit here, completely overwhelmed with every Cincinnati experience that has led to today. Were I to list names they would fill a book. This feels like a fucking Oscar speech. Whatever. I am so grateful for you - if you're reading this and thinking "does she mean me?" the answer is yes. Thank you.

Someone once told me that the best ambassadors for Cincinnati are the ones that no longer live here. Us ex-pats can tell the world about how lovely and important it is- which comes as a surprise to so many, but hopefully not for too long.

"You can always come back." It's what we say to those striking out for new ventures, or even to those of us *gasp* thinking about it. And it's true. It's the goal, to boomerang and land butter side up back in the city that stole my heart.

I hope, after all is said and done and settled, that any mark I've made here has been a positive one. I'm going to continue to update here - things I've been ruminating on/doing that haven't had time to be written down - and thoughts and experiences on a new adventure. Hope you stick around for the ride.

The Climb- a short story

The cold wind mussed our hair, causing jackets to be zipped closer, hats pulled down tighter. Standing in a lopsided circle on damp ground in the back woods of southern Ohio, the 56 of us looked quizzically at each other and towards the wooden monstrosity waiting some 50 yards away.

The picture doesn't do this terror justice, but you get the idea.

"Welcome to the Alpine Tower," shouted the genial, bearded dude, decked out in climbing harness and carabinered water bottle. Randall explained the process, describing how several dozen of us were going to scale the 65-foot tall structure, outfitted with dangling ladders, precariously placed footholds, ropes and metal jiggers holding the thing together like a giant's game of Jenga.

I cracked a smile to the girl standing next to me. Tanja and I had walked the trail up to the Tower, comparing notes on big-sisterhood and growing up in tough situations. We promised each other it would be no big deal, that despite our mutual trepidation of heights, we'd both scale the tower and have a great time doing it.

The entire day at Camp Joy was comprised of a variety of team building exercises and facilitated conversations on vulnerability and leadership for the group of us- C-Change, Class 8. I'd participated in weekend retreats in a similar fashion, but never as an adult. I'd broken down some of my barriers and already learned a ton about changing my attitudes and opening up as a way to lead from behind. I had no idea how vulnerable I'd make myself in the next hour.

I adjusted my helmet and watched as 4, 6, 10 of my new colleagues sauntered up the poles. Connected to ropes with a dedicated belay team, there was no possible way anyone would hurt themselves. Those of us at the bottom shouted encouragement and advice to our friends who were trying to make their way up the tower. After some careful observation, and with a sinking feeling in my chest, I cheerfully volunteered to be the next to ascend the structure. Fake it til you make it, right?

I don't do heights. Being on the edge of bridges makes me dizzy, and while I enjoy roller coasters, it's only because I do so completely encased in a metal cage. My friend Jamie's trapeze birthday was an exercise in courage, and it was only 30 feet or so up in the air. Yet, here I was. The only way out was up.

I slowly clambered up the first telephone pole, making it about 25 feet in the air, and then froze. The ground was too far away, and I was completely unfamiliar with the rock climbing hand and footholds that were my only access to moving up the thing. They seemed too small, too unwieldy to support me. I clung to the wood like an overgrown koala and tried to breathe without crying. There was no way I was going to make it.

An actual few minutes spent clinging to the base, debating my options, considering giving up, felt like hours. My new classmates were shouting encouragement to me, and I felt like a failure. One voice, I don't know whose, floated up to me: "Keep looking up! Keep going!" I awkwardly flung a leg over a connecting piece of the puzzle, and began the climb again.

It was ridiculous, really. I stopped and started no fewer than five more times before reaching the top, flinging colorful curse words and unbridled shrieks of terror to the wind whenever I felt I'd made a mistake. The team on the ground never gave up on me. I was sure they were laughing at the absurd spectacle I was making of myself - I was perfectly safe; there was no reason for fear. But taming my inner lizard-brain was incredibly difficult.

I don't remember exactly how I ascended to the final platform - it was some combination of my anxious beached-whale kicking and the patient climb instructor hauling on my harness. But the yawp I released -full of triumph, fear, joy, adrenaline- could be heard the next county over; that, I remember. I warmed my frozen fingers with my breath, waiting on the platform with new friends comparing notes, and flung myself voluntarily over the edge of the precipice to zipline to the ground below.

Other challenges that lie before me are comparatively, cake. Bring 'em on.

How to be Safe-ish

Is OTR diverse? Heck yes! Scary? Eh. (photo by 5chw4r7z)

Oh, you live in Over-the-Rhine?... *whisper* don't you feel safe? I get this question more often than you would think. I usually laugh it off. I'm not one given to fear my surroundings. I've learned over the last year to replace fear for understanding, empathy, and confidence - tempered with trusting my gut and common sense.

But. But!

It's so SCARY in Over-the-Rhine!

Is it?

I mostly find it quiet... especially in the winter. I find it interesting. I find it diverse. I find it impossible to avoid my fellow humans... but not particularly scary.

It sucks when people get shot, get hurt, when bad things happen in my neighborhood... it really does. It also sucks in Westwood, Fairfield, Avondale, Clifton Heights, and other neighborhoods in the area.

The people I interact with on a daily basis - my neighbors - are an eclectic bunch. I am surrounded on both sides of my apartment building by Mercy Housing - that is, Section 8. You know, THOSE people. What people? People who aren't like me? Yep. We're all co-existing in close quarters. It's what people do in cities.

I'm not saying bad things don't happen. I'm not naiive; they do. But for the last 20 years we have been conned into this self-important state of believing we are special enough to be singled out, that there is terrifying danger lurking around every corner.

FBI statistics show we are living in a time with the least amount of violent crime in the last 40 years. Increased isolationism through suburban living, a 24 hour news cycle and crime-based TV shows (don't even get me started on Criminal Minds!) inflate our fears to the point where we think that EVERY stranger is out to get us. Come on. You're just not that important.

There was an editorial the Enquirer ran about a man who went downtown and Over-the-Rhine one Saturday, and had a great time with his family. When he came home he found out someone had been shot hours after he had been through the neighborhood, and declared he would think twice before going down again. 

 That's like saying you will never ever set foot in a car again after that multi-car pile up on the Brent Spence Bridge (or any other of the hundreds of car accidents that happen in the area every year, many of them deadly.) We certainly don't see that happening. "Safe" is a pretty relative term; taking risks is an inevitable part of life.

Look. You can do what you want. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I refuse to let fear or intimidation keep me from living my life. I've been mugged. I've had my house broken into. Yet, I move forward; I won't let fear of the past prevent me from the future. There's too many amazing things going on downtown and Over-the-Rhine to let the remote possibility of something bad happening prevent me from participating.

just a few of the fun and ridiculous things I could have missed out on by avoiding the 45202

If you don't buy or sell drugs or engage in prostitution, your odds of being shot in Over-the-Rhine automatically decrease by about 95%. Thieves mostly strike when they see opportunity - leaving change in your car or absentmindedly counting your cash while walking down the street will increase your odds.

That being said, here are my tips for decreasing your chances of being a victim of crime, anywhere. Don't come crying to me if it doesn't work, or blame me the next time something happens (because it will.) I'm just telling you what I do. No guarantees. Okay.

******

How to Stay Safe(r) - Anywhere.

* Don't carry a purse/bag if you can help it.
Purses are easy to grab and run off with, and are shiny and inviting. Only carry what you absolutely need - card/cash/id, keys, phone, chapstick. Put them in your pockets or utilize a friend with pockets if necessary. Alternatively, wear a bag or purse that goes across your chest instead of over your shoulder.

* Be aware of your surroundings.
Only keep one headphone bud in. Know what and who's around you. Walking with your head buried in your smart phone is a great way to get punched in the face by someone wanting your phone (a friend of mine found this out the hard way)

* Protect your ish.
Lock your phone. Get renter's insurance. Set up a GPS locator phone app to see where it's gone if it gets taken.

* Don't walk into trouble if you see it.
Riding your bike up hill and see a bunch of teenagers at the top? Turn around. Have the option to walk down a deserted dark street or go one block over to the busy, well lit one? Duh. See a drug deal going down? Ignore it.

* Engage.
Even if the person walking down the street from you sounds/smells/acts/looks different than you, the odds of them actively wanting to hurt you/take advantage of you are small. Smile. Say hello. 9 times out of 10 they will... smile and say hello right back. It's crazy, really.

* Listen.
Panhandlers happen. I try to listen to people when they're talking to me without initially brushing them off. They may have an elaborate story. They may want your money. They may just be wanting to talk your ear off. They may need directions. Before you brush someone off, listen and understand what it is they're asking you for.

Nothing made me feel more like an jerk than when I cut a woman off once who was just wanting directions to a coffee shop. If they do ask you for money and you don't want to give them any, just a smile and "Sorry, I don't have any" will do.

* If you've got a gut feeling something's wrong, go with it.
If someone's getting in your physical space, if you have an uncomfortable feeling something's not right, there's nothing wrong with being abrupt and getting to where you need to go - inside your car, inside your apartment, inside a random bar/shop/restaurant/intersection where there are people and where it's well lit - do it. It's a balance.

* Other unconventional ways of guaranteeing people will give you your space:
Wearing ridiculous hats. Riding a pink bike. Sobbing loudly and uncontrollably while walking down the street in the middle of the night. Singing or dancing down the sidewalk. Not that I would know from experience...

I don't think guns solve any problems. I suppose a whistle or pepper spray or something might be useful, but then I'd have to go and get some and that sounds like work.

******

I made a choice to live in Over-the-Rhine because I wanted to be challenged with humanity, every day. I wanted to be caught up in the exhilaration that comes from being surrounded by people during a street fair or at Findlay Market. I enjoy being greeted every day by Marc Antony, one of the more outgoing homeless residents, or Ed the car washer guy, engaging friends and strangers as I walk or bike down the street.

I didn't want to live in a bubble, by myself, isolated in a non-descript housing complex, hemmed in by development I couldn't get to without driving, intentionally cooping myself up in the American dream. Being around people has its trade offs. I'll take the risk that comes with the overwhelming good, every time.