You came to take us: The Mets hat that made me cry in Lake Michigan

Falling in love with a city (again) after 24 hours, eating bagels in places that aren't New York, and testing the universe (even though I know better).

This is part two of a three-part series. You can catch up whenever you’re ready.

In Part One, I talk about the pull to visit Chicago, and how we started to consider it as a place we could maybe, potentially, actually move to. In part two, we’ll arrive.

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In late August, we flew to Chicago with our toddler, my parents, and no idea what we were getting into.

We'd never been, didn’t know anyone there, and yet — for reasons I still can’t fully explain — something (many things) kept telling us to explore it. For months leading up to this, we’d been flirting with the idea of leaving New York, and Chicago was the only city that stuck. Now it was time to see if this was an imagined love, from afar, or if we’d actually like the city as much as we thought we would.

The summer before we took our trip, season three of The Bear came out and I got a bit more of my Chicago fix in. I paid more attention to B-roll than I ever have while watching that season. We continued to watch the Chicago episodes of House Hunters.

I found myself craving more Chicago TV, and so I started watching Easy¹ on Netflix — I’d Google where certain episodes took place, sometimes trying to guess which neighborhoods were being shown based on what I’d learned so far. By the end of it, I think I got pretty good at placing places.

And when that was finished, I started diving into something I’ve talked a lot about here — yes, this is what served as my introduction to the One Chicago universe. Starting with Chicago Fire, and layering on PD and Med to follow the order in which they were released. And of course, we continued to watch Jordan’s² videos on YouTube.

After months of discussions, hypotheticals, and nudges from the universe, we were ready.

Before we left, my husband was saying how undeniable the signs were — they continued up until we left for our trip, and seemed to intensify just before we left.

(An aside, dear reader: one thing to know about me is that I am stubborn and for some reason I insist on testing the universe, even though I know better).

“Sure,” I said, “but seeing a Mets hat while we’re there would really be a sign”.

I don’t know why I insisted on that, or why I blurted it out. Maybe it’s because the Mets had been on fire since Grimace threw the first pitch back in June, or maybe I felt like I needed to prove that there was a little piece of me waiting in Chicago.

We see someone in a Mets shirt while at O’Hare. “That guy was on our flight,” I retort, “and that’s a shirt. It doesn’t count”.

Our Airbnb — a nice, two-bedroom unit in a three flat³ — was situated at the intersection of two neighborhoods we were most interested in, Lincoln Park and Lakeview. Our flight was three hours delayed and so we missed the afternoon, but we were eager to make the most of our evening. After checking into our Airbnb, getting my son to bed, and making sure my parents were okay with staying in, we set out with no plan to explore Chicago for the first time.

We left our Airbnb — the humid and hot air smacking us in the face after some relief from the air conditioner. It was hot, and felt like some of the most extreme temperatures we’d see during the summer in New York. The heat radiated from the concrete under our feet, a familiar feeling, but I didn’t care. It was humid, it was hot, but we were in Chicago. Finally.

“Let’s just walk down Lincoln and see where that takes us,” I said. And so we did. We started walking — observing, talking, pointing at architecture we liked. The city felt familiar, even though we’d never been before and had no connection to the place. I started to look at the hats others were wearing as they walked by, but no Mets hats were immediately obvious. I decided to let it go and didn’t think about it for the rest of the night.

“It’s grittier than I expected,” I said. “And I mean that as a good thing. It feels real”. My husband agreed.

It felt like the best parts of the three places we lived — New York, Baltimore, and San Francisco, all rolled into one. It felt like other cities we’d traveled to or thought about living in, but only a bit. It felt like somewhere completely new and unique — we could draw parallels all we wanted, but it was also clear: Chicago was its own city, deserving of its own recognition.

Before our trip, I tried figuring out which neighborhoods in Chicago felt like Brooklyn, Park Slope and the surrounding neighborhoods specifically. r/chicago seemed to say one thing while r/brooklyn said another, and scattered throughout were comments about how there’s not a fair comparison because Chicago is its own city.

I rolled my eyes reading that. Yeah fine, I get it, but just tell me. I found it hard to believe there really wasn’t a Park Slope carbon copy waiting for me in Chicago.

About ten minutes into our walk, I realized I hadn’t seen one piece of litter. After another ten minutes, I realized I’d been smiling while walking without realizing it.

After about a mile or so, we decided to turn on Halstead for no other reason than it felt right. After another mile, we stopped in to a restaurant that I wasn’t quite sure we were dressed for (but once we got inside I realized we were totally fine — I realized then Chicago is a bit more casual than Brooklyn, again in a good way).

We had a nice dinner — $40 for a three course meal (I got a Caesar salad, a burger, and a key lime pie). Our waitress told us it was a special they ran on Mondays. “Oh no, we leave Friday,” I remarked, planning another dinner at this restaurant before we even received our starters.

During dinner, my husband asked what I thought so far.

“I love it,” I said, without missing a beat. “It’s so silly because we’ve walked two miles in this ridiculously humid heat, and we’ve seen two streets, but I love it.” I was beaming while I said this — another thing about me, dear reader, is that when I’m like really excited about something, it’s hard for me to control my emotions, even when I try to ‘play it cool’.

“I agree,” he responded. “Something feels right”. He then asked me what percentage I thought I could live here.

“Like, 60-70%,” I said, “and I think I’m just being cautious because we just got here, and haven’t seen that much yet”.

We ate our dinner, walked a little bit more, and then caught an uber back to our Airbnb (in hindsight, we could’ve taken the bus, but it was our first night and we were still getting acclimated).

The next morning, against my better judgement, we decide to try the bagel place that was a block away from where we were staying.

I’m setting myself up for disappointment, I thought, even though I think it was my idea to try it — the reviews mentioned best bagel in Chicago, and I figured it was worth the chance. Maybe deep down, I was trying to find something wrong with the city before we got too far ahead of ourselves.

I can confidently say this bagel was the best bagel I’ve had outside of New York, and honestly better than a few I’ve had within city limits as well. The guy at the counter was pleased to hear that — almost as pleased as I was to report this news to him.

I won’t have to live a life without bagels, I thought to myself.

In the afternoon, we hopped on the L and checked out the Bean. It was really hot once again —in the mid 90s, and by then a handful of locals assured us this was unseasonably hot, even for August, and we should be able to enjoy the typical mid-80s weather Chicago summers boast.

We walked around the Bean and Millennium Park, took some obligatory photos, and decided to walk up Michigan Avenue to check it out and find something to eat.

Me and my Mets hat at the Bean

I was more interested in walking around the neighborhoods we actually wanted to live in, but I knew that would come later. We were tourists, after all, and it’s important to get a sense of the ‘bustling’ parts of a city, too. I surprised myself and liked it a lot more than I thought I would.

As we leave the Bean, already overheated, I see a family sitting in the shade towards one of the park exits. The dad is wearing a blue baseball cap, and while logic told me to assume it was a Cubs hat, it caught my eye. He was just too far to make out the logo, but my eye was immediately drawn to it.

It also wasn’t quite the right blue to be a Cubs hat, but it was a blue that was very familiar to me. We need to walk by that family, I mutter to myself.

We get closer and it immediately becomes clear — this man is wearing a Mets hat. My husband and I acknowledge it, but to this day I don’t remember who said what. My mind was so focused on what we found.

Not only is he wearing a Mets hat, but he is wearing the same Mets hat I am wearing at that exact moment — a blue cap with an orange logo.

And as I get closer, I can see that his hat is as old (if not older), as faded (if not more faded), and as ratty (if not rattier) than mine.

Alright, universe. I’m sorry, I’ll stop testing you.

The Dad and I acknowledge each other, he says something like “I can’t believe I flew this miles to find another Mets fan,” and I said something like “we can’t be stopped”.

What I knew but had forgotten about — the Mets were going to be in town later that week (after we left, unfortunately), to play the White Sox⁴. So, maybe it wasn’t as crazy of an ask from the universe as I originally thought, but still. The fact that this guy and I were wearing the same hat at the same moment felt like the universe’s way of showing me what I needed to see.

Still buzzing from that experience (and perhaps also from the extreme heat), we walked up Michigan Avenue, ate some Thai food, and then walked to the nearest point for access to the Lake. If I was going to move here, after all, I needed to compare these “beaches” to the ones I grew up going to. I wore my bathing suit, expecting to end up here at the end of the day. I had low expectations, but my goal was to see if Lake Michigan ‘would do’.

When we got to the beach, I paused for a moment to take it all in. We were surrounded by white sand, tons of people, and the tall buildings of the Chicago skyline. If I turned around in the other direction, all I could see was the water, sky, and a few boats. This reminded me of another favorite city of mine, Rio De Janeiro, where my extended family lives — one of my favorite things about Rio is that you can stand parallel to the water and see water, beach, mountains, and a bustling city in one view. You can also face the water and forget you’re in the middle of the city. I felt that way in Chicago, too.

I peeled off my dress and ran into the water. After a day of walking around and continuously sweating in 94º heat in shoes that weren’t meant to clock 20,000 steps and forgetting to wear bike shorts under my dress, the water could not have felt better.

The water was warm but still refreshing and was still — groups of people were standing in the water chatting, casually. If we were at the Rockaways, we’d be catching waves left and right, treading water, making sure we’re not drifting too far from our stuff in the sand, and running back in when tired. I love those moments in the ocean, but there was a calmness in the Lake that I don’t often feel when swimming in the Atlantic.

After a few minutes, I forgot I wasn’t in an ocean. I guess I didn’t really need it to be.

We’d been out all day and so this was truly meant to be a quick dip in the water but I couldn’t pull myself out. The emotions of this trip so far, the unknown of our future, the guy with the Mets hat, and all the potential washed over me. I found myself looking back on the last few months of dreaming about a place and falling in love from afar and the confirmation I felt within our first 24 hours in Chicago. I started to cry, right then and there, and I dunked my head under water so as to not be found out.

I couldn’t explain why, but there was something that told me we were supposed to keep exploring the city. Something about the city inexplicably felt like home. Something that told me we’d be back, soon enough.

The rest of the trip was spent clocking over 20,000 steps per day while exploring over a dozen different neighborhoods. I’d quickly realized the sneakers I brought were not my best walking shoes and I bought a pair of Hokas at a local shoe store in Andersonville.

The temperatures dropped back down to the low-80s, and we found our way through the city on foot, by bus, and by L (of course). We talked to as many people as we could in shops, restaurants, and wherever else we found ourselves — people like to talk to others in Chicago, and I found this comforting in a way I didn’t expect.

I discovered the joy of Chicago dogs and met a waitress named Sara I’ll never forget. After this trip, I still think deep dish is overrated (sorry).

We fell more and more in love with Chicago, got a sense of the places we liked, and when we left knew we needed to see more. We also knew we were serious about a move. When we came home, neither of us could stop thinking about the city, about the potential, about what the future could hold.

Unable to shake the feeling I had in Lake Michigan and the desire to continue to get to know the city, my husband and I booked a flight for a long weekend at the end of October. We scheduled a phone call with a realtor — yes, it was Jordan from YouTube — and connected with a mortgage lender the day we got back from our first trip.

Until then, I held on to that feeling of being under warm, calm waters, my tears forever a part of one of the Great Lakes.

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In Part Three, we find ourselves back in Chicago, eat a burger that ruins Shake Shack, and tour *actual* homes.

We discover whether or not we think we could live there, and start to see where a dream can fall apart.

1. Easy has become one of my favorite shows - I thought I’d watched it before, but actually I just remember seeing it featured on the Netflix homepage when it came out. I also remember one early morning, our cats (then kittens) somehow turned on the TV and started playing an episode of Easy. I woke up, sat on the couch, and watched it with them. I guess I never kept going, until now.

2. Jordan is a real estate agent I talked about in Part One - we found his videos about Living in Chicago on YouTube and devoured them.

3. A term I’ve only heard in Chicago, used to describe what we in New York would call a three family house

4. This is also significant, if only for my sports stat nerds out there. Up until last season, the Mets held the record for the most losses in a single season, in 1962 with 120 losses. In 2024, 62 years later, the White Sox slid in to claim that record, with 121 losses. This of course wasn’t fact then, but the White Sox were having a miserable season at that point and the Mets were just starting to flirt with the words Wild Card.