Lakeshore East Park

The most peaceful place I’ve been fortunate enough to visit is a short five-minute walk from my apartment. Far from the concrete-ridden edifices of downtown, where police sirens echo through the night like clockwork.

“Take a right and go straight,” instructed the seasoned receptionist as she pointed to a large revolving glass door in the lobby. Harsh yellow light from the bulbs overhead bounced off her glasses as she meticulously directed me to Aqua’s “hidden gem.”

As I slowly exited the building, I found myself walking up a narrow corridor disguised as a street. On either side of me, the concrete walls were bare — The only splash of color coming from a large dumpster on the lefthand side of the road. I instinctively held my breath as I passed by, expecting to be overwhelmed by the sour stench of rotten trash. Surprisingly, that wasn’t the case.

Eventually, I made my way to the end of the street where I was greeted by an extremely large staircase. Awestruck by its grandeur, I immediately decided to take a picture. One step at a time, I carefully descended the antiquated stairs, paying close attention to the uneven distribution of cracks beneath my feet.

Dodging a small trail of smashed Cheez-Its and half eaten strawberries (presumably from the local grocery store), I finally reached my destination: Lakeshore East Park. Surrounded by marvelously colored tulips, freshly manicured grass and lively trees, it was as if I had entered a magical world in which I miraculously escaped the wrath of Chicago’s concrete prison.

There was a pleasant breeze; sunlight pierced through broken clouds resulting in subtle warmth, which ultimately made me regret wearing a sweatshirt. As I scanned the area looking for places to go, curved paths veered off in every which direction. Curious of what I would encounter, I aimlessly started walking.

To my left, I noticed Elizabeth Benton Playground. Parents watched from afar as their elementary school aged children navigated a series of twisty slides, shaky bridges and complicated rope courses. Even more impressive than the ease in which they tackled those obstacles was the color scheme the city decided to go with for its equipment. Teal blue, burnt orange and lime green were three colors I never thought I’d see paired together, but it worked.

As I continued down the path, a sky-blue water fountain decorated with thick black graffiti caught my eye. It seemed out of place in a self-proclaimed “oasis,” where the only reminder of city life was abnormally large skyscrapers peeking over the tops of disgruntled looking trees.

Rounding the corner, I made it to the top of the hill where I rested my notepad on a shiny black bench. As I sat down, cool metal tickled the back of my leg like a loose-fitting article of clothing. In front of me was a football sized field where a young couple was teaching their new puppy how to play fetch. Suddenly, I realized I was in a dog park.

Upon further investigation, there was a large, gated area designated for off-leash activities to my left. Friendly dogs of all different shapes and sizes made new friends as their owners casually conversated with one another by the fence.

Hidden by shade, a brief moment of solitude allowed for much needed reflection. While I’ve slowly acclimated myself to city life since moving here in September, every now and then, it’s nice to get away. For the first time all week, I found myself at peace — sitting on a bench in the middle of a dog park.