“You never forget your first.” That’s what people say about love, right? But let me tell you, it also applies to big life choices—the ones that stick in your head because you wonder, every now and then, what might’ve happened if you’d zigged instead of zagged. Mine comes down to two words: Paris or Chicago.
Years ago, fresh out of Northwestern with my cap still smelling like hair product and liberation, I got a job offer to stay in France for a more permanent adventure. It was the land of baguettes, fine art, and love locks on bridges—basically, an Instagram dream before Instagram was even a thing. But there was one catch: to take the job, I’d have to rip myself out of Chicago’s deep soil. And if you’ve ever tried to transplant a windy city native, you know we don’t uproot easily. I said no to Paris. Chicago had too much of my heart—and my stomach, because have you had Harold’s Chicken after a day riding the CTA? Case closed.
Still, every so often, I let my mind stroll down that path not taken.
The Crossroads: Chicago Deep Dish vs. Parisian Croissant
Let me set the scene. Picture me standing at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport with my passport in one hand and my heart split in two. On one side, there was Chicago, the city that made me. Chicago is not just where I grew up—it’s the rhythm of my life. The crackle of leaves underfoot in the fall at Harold Washington Park. The bassline of Common’s “Go” playing from an open car window on Stony Island. My mother teaching me W.E.B. Du Bois and Baldwin quotes around the dinner table. Chicago molded me, and I wasn’t ready to let it go.
On the other side sat Paris, my mistress of possibility. I’d fallen for her during my semester abroad—those narrow cobblestone streets, the Seine glittering in moonlight, the casual way strangers spoke about philosophy at dinner parties like it was no big deal. Paris offered a life of romance, mystery, and the kind of personal reinvention that feels like the stuff of indie films. The croissants were a plus.
The Real Question: Stability vs. Glow-Up
When I ask myself why I chose Chicago over Paris, the answer is embarrassingly simple: I was tired. After four years of busting my tail to graduate, the thought of starting over somewhere unfamiliar while I was still paying off student loans felt impossible. Besides, Chicago was (and still is) my safety net. Like a warm, dependable hoodie you refuse to throw away even when it’s a little tattered, it fit me perfectly. In Paris, I wouldn’t know where to get a decent haircut or who to call when I locked myself out of my apartment. Chicago was the known quantity.
Still, was the safe choice the brave one? Choosing stability is like wearing sensible sneakers to a wedding—functional, fine, but are they you? In the back of my mind, Paris represented that glow-up we’re all chasing—the chance to become the most fascinating version of myself. And in matters of love or life, don’t we all crave a little je ne sais quoi?
What We Miss When We Don’t Jump
Here’s the thing. Saying no to Paris didn’t just mean I missed out on buttery croissants (though, wow, I do miss those). It meant I didn’t give myself the chance to be someone else—or figure out if “someone else” was who I needed to be. Humans are creatures of comfort, yes, but we’re also built to evolve. Sometimes I think about who “Paris DeAndre” might have been. Would he have developed an impeccable French accent? Become one of those cool guys who wears scarves in the summer without sweating? Maybe he’d have learned how to relax, to sip wine under the stars without checking email between sips.
Then again, the path I chose gave me something too: my community. Back in Chicago, where gentrification battles alongside the enduring creativity of its people, I built a life that mattered to me. I taught poetry workshops to kids whose stories rarely make headlines but always deserve to. I fell in love with a jazz singer who told me my laugh sounded like a trumpet solo. Choosing Chicago meant I could remain part of something greater than myself—a legacy, a lineage.
Still, choosing one thing almost always means letting go of another. And that’s the ache I carry.
How to Make Peace With Your Decisions
If you’re in the middle of your own crossroads moment—whether it’s deciding between grad school and a gap year, or settling down with someone who feels like “home” versus chasing a unlikely long-distance romance—here’s the advice I wish someone had given me:
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Choose What Fits Now
The thing about big decisions is, they can feel final, but they usually aren’t. You can only commit to who you are in this moment. Don’t pick Paris to impress someone on Instagram or choose Chicago because “it’s what people expect.” Pick the path that suits who you are today—not who you might be tomorrow. -
There’s No Perfect Choice
Romantic comedies make it seem like if you just choose Door A or B, your life will fall into place like a shiny puzzle. Newsflash: even the “perfect” choice will bring baggage. Paris might’ve been romantic, but I’d have had to learn tax filing in another language. Chicago means winters that levy personal attacks on your skin. No path is conflict-free. -
Give Yourself Permission to Grieve
It’s okay to miss the life you didn’t choose. I sometimes wonder what stories I’ve missed out on by staying in Chicago—and it’s healthy to wonder. That’s not regret, it’s curiosity. You can grieve one path while celebrating the one you’re on. Life is full of contradictions like that. -
Honor the Journey
Whoever you become because of your choice, embrace it fully. Own the lessons, bumps, and blessings. That’s the only way to truly live your story, no matter what address it comes with.
Conclusion: Love the Path You Choose
Looking back, I’ll say this: Paris might’ve been my muse, but Chicago is my love. She’s gritty and loyal, a city of hard-working dreamers, stubborn beauty, and unrelenting hope. My decision to stay gave me roots that have anchored me through my highest highs and lowest lows. Sure, every now and then, I’ll daydream about sipping espresso on Rue Saint-Honoré and pretending I’m cooler than I actually am. But when I wake up, I’ll choose Harold’s Chicken and Miles Davis blasting from my tinny Bluetooth speaker every time.
The road not taken will always glow a little brighter in our memories. But if you spend all your energy mourning what you left behind, you’ll never see the wonder in the road you’re on. So make your choice, step boldly forward, and don’t look back too often—you’re too busy building your best life ahead.
