Génesis RC

Tag: Chicago life

  • Finding your WHY when you’re scared to say it out loud

    Finding your WHY when you’re scared to say it out loud

    My therapist gave me two assignments this week. The first: start finding your why — why you do what you do, what’s underneath all of it. The second: go somewhere beautiful to do it. She picked the place — the second floor of the Chicago Athletic Association.

    Why is this so hard to answer

    I’m someone who always has words. Ask me about my work and I’ll talk for twenty minutes. Ask me about food systems, community, hospitality, what’s broken in an industry and how to fix it — I have opinions. I have a lot of opinions.

    But the why? The real one? That made me go quiet.

    I think it’s because I already know the answer — and knowing it makes it real. And real things can be chased. Real things can fail. It’s much safer to keep it fuzzy, unnamed, sent to the universe but never fully claimed.

    What I do know

    There are three things I’ve always come back to, no matter the job title or the season of life.

    I LOOOOVE  connecting people. Not networking — actual human connection. Putting the right two people in the same room and watching something happen that wouldn’t have existed otherwise. I’ve built entire careers around this instinct without ever naming it out loud. I LOV food not just eating it, but everything around it. The industry, the culture, the way a dish carries an entire history inside of it. Food is never just food to me. It’s infrastructure. It’s identity. It’s how communities survive and how they celebrate. And I LOVE  hospitality. The real kind — where someone walks into a room and immediately feels like they were expected, like this space was built with them in mind. I think about that feeling constantly. I try to recreate it in everything I do. These three things? I’ve known them for years. They’re not the scary part.

    The door I haven’t opened yet

    The scary part is what those three things are pointing toward. There’s an idea I keep circling — something I’ve already put out into the universe, quietly, without fully saying it out loud. Because naming it means owning it. And owning it means there’s no more hiding behind “someday.” I’m in a transition right now — career and identity, mostly. I divide my time between Puerto Rico and Chicago, and both places know a version of me. But Anissa is asking me to find the version that exists regardless of which island or city I’m standing in. The one that doesn’t change with the zip code.

    I’m standing in front of a door I haven’t opened yet. I can feel the handle. I know what’s on the other side. I’m just working up to turning it

    And somehow, being in this room helps. Like Anissa knew the assignment needed a setting that matched its weight. You don’t excavate your deepest why just anywhere. You go somewhere that takes you seriously first.

    Why any of this matters

    Your why isn’t a mission statement. It’s not a LinkedIn headline or an elevator pitch. Simon Sinek talks about this — the idea that people don’t connect with what you do, they connect with why you do it. But when you apply that to your own life, it gets a lot more complicated. It’s the thing that explains your pattern — why you keep making the same choices across completely different contexts, why certain rooms feel right and others drain you before you even sit down. When you’re in real transition — the kind that touches career and identity at the same time — your why is the only fixed point. Jobs change. Seasons change. But the reason you chose this path and not another, that stays. The problem is most of us never stop long enough to name it. We stay busy. We move. And then one day a therapist sends us to a beautiful building with a homework assignment and we finally have to sit with it.

    If you’re somewhere similar — if you know something about yourself but aren’t ready to say it yet — I want you to know that’s a valid place to be. You’re not behind. The door will still be there when you’re ready.

    I’ll let you know when I open mine.

    Gracias por leerme,

    Génesis 🍒

  • Warm Chicago.

    Warm Chicago.

    You survived the winter. Here’s your reward.

    Hay cosas que no puedes explicarle a alguien que nunca ha vivido en Chicago durante invierno. No el invierno de “ay, hace frío.” El invierno de seis meses de cielo gris. De ponerte capas o el parka para bajar a sacar la basura. De olvidar qué color tiene el cielo cuando no está cubierto de nubes que se sienten personales. De preguntarte — y esto es serio — si el sol existe todavía o si eso era un rumor.

    Y entonces llega. Sin avisar, casi. Un martes. Un sábado. Cualquier día que Chicago decide que ya, ya fue suficiente.

    78°F 🌞 Not a cloud en sight.

    Chicago cálida no es simplemente buen clima. Es un acto de justicia. Es el universo diciendo: okay, you made it through. Here, take this.

    Salgo a la calle y la gente — toda la gente — está diferente. Like genuinely altered. Los vecinos que en febrero no te miran están sonriendo. Hay alguien con speaker en el parque. Hay perros corriendo que claramente tampoco pueden creer que esto esté pasando. Los niños en las escaleras. Las abuelas con las sillas afuera. El señor del primer piso afuera con una Tecate y los ojos cerrados hacia el sol como si estuviera rezando. Y lo está. Todos lo estamos. Agradeciendo los rayitos de sol que duran hasta my bed time.

    Aquí en Chicago, el calor es colectivo. Es una experiencia compartida que nadie tiene que coordinar porque todo el mundo sabe. Todos sobrevivimos lo mismo. El frío fue igual de brutal para mi madre que vive en Pilsen y para el man que vive en los suburbios… Y ahora el sol es de todos por igual.

    ☀ ☀ ☀

    Yo soy de Puerto Rico, o sea que técnicamente debería ser inmune a emocionarme con el clima. El sol donde crecí es una constante, no un evento. Pero almost 11 years living here and honestly — Warm Chicago me mueve más que cualquier verano boricua. Porque este sol me lo gané. Lo esperé. Sobreviví los meses en que el mundo se sentía INFELIZ.

    70° grados y empiezo a hacer planes que no voy a cumplir — ir al lago, explorar un barrio nuevo, leer afuera como si fuera una persona que lee afuera. Pero 78°— ahí está el número. 78°es la temperatura a la que Chicago se convierte en la ciudad que te convenció de quedarte. La ciudad que te prometió algo y finalmente lo entregó. 78° es la temperatura en la que pienso: okay. Okay, valió la pena.

    El invierno de Chicago no te mata — te convierte, te hace madurar. La primavera te devuelve, pero distinta. Con más paciencia. Con más gratitud por cosas que antes dabas por sentado. Como el sol. Como caminar sin sentir que tu cara va a quebrarse.

    Hoy caminé sin destino. Hice mis 10K steps antes de las 11am. Huge accomplishment if I may say. Eso es todo. No tenía errands, no tenía reuniones, no tenía nada. Solo caminé porque se podía. Porque después de meses de entrar y salir de lugares lo más rápido posible — porque el frío, porque el viento, porque el viento de Chicago que es un viento con carácter y opinión propia — hoy observe. Miré las casas. Miré los jardines que están empezando a despertar. Miré el cielo que era, te lo juro, ese azul que se siente pintado a mano.

    Y pensé: casi once años aquí. Inviernos, primaveras como esta. Y cada una se siente like the first time.

    Eso es lo que hace Chicago. No te deja acostumbrarte. No te deja ser indiferente. El invierno se asegura de eso — de que cuando llegue el calor, lo recibas con todo el cuerpo, con toda el alma, como si fuera un milagro.

    Porque lo es.

    🌞🌞☀

    Si eres de Chicago y estás leyendo esto: sal. Ahora. Para lo que estás haciendo. El email puede esperar. El laundry puede esperar. Sal y párate en el sol aunque sean cinco minutos. Cierra los ojos y respira profundo. Llegó el calor aunque hoy abril 6, este en 44 grados.

    Tú también te lo ganaste

    Graciasss por leerme 💘

    Génesis 🍒

  • Are You Patriotic?

    Are You Patriotic?

    I was a happy Puerto Rican — until I moved to Chicago. There, I became a proud, patriotic Puerto Rican.

    There’s a difference. A big one. And it took me leaving to understand it.

    Summer 2014. My second time visiting Chicago. I’m with my mom, tía, and tío; in Pilsen, a Mexican neighborhood on the southwest side. And there they are.

    Puerto Rican flags. Everywhere.

    My first thought, I swear, was just: “Que cool, banderas de PR, con el azul que es.”

    That was it. That was the whole reaction. Happy. Innocent. Not yet anything deeper than that. I just thought it was cool that someone put up our flag in this Mexican neighborhood. I noticed the blue — the specific blue, azul clarito, the original — and I smiled and kept walking.

    I had no idea what I was looking at.

    Growing up in Puerto Rico, I was lucky. My high school history teacher was J. Costa — and because of her, I knew more than most. She’s the reason I learned to be curious about history, to travel, to read critically, to question what’s not in the textbook. She taught me that Puerto Ricans were once prohibited from displaying their own flag. That it was illegal. That people went to prison for it.

    I knew it. I just didn’t feel it yet.

    That’s the thing about learning history in the place where it happened — it can still feel abstract. Distant. Like something that was, not something that is. Puerto Rico surrounded me so completely that I never had to think about what it meant to be Puerto Rican. It was just oxygen. You don’t think about oxygen until you’re somewhere that doesn’t have enough of it.

    After I moved to Chicago, I started doing what Janina taught me — asking questions, digging deeper. And I really learned. Not the clean version. La historia de Puerto Rico que no está en los libros de historia.

    The Gag Law. Law 53 of 1948. You could go to prison for owning a Puerto Rican flag. For singing a patriotic song. For speaking about independence in public. In your own country. Your own home.

    And suddenly those flags in Pilsen — in a Mexican neighborhood, thousands of miles from the island — made complete sense. That community wasn’t decorating. They were remembering. They were refusing. They were saying you tried to erase this and here it is, azul clarito, on every corner, and we’re not asking permission.

    I didn’t move to Chicago and find my identity. I moved to Chicago and finally understood what it cost.

    That’s when happy became proud. And proud is heavier. Proud has history in it. Proud means you know what you’re carrying.

    “La Patria es valor y sacrificio.” — Pedro Albizu Campos

    Don Pedro didn’t say the homeland is the place you were born. He didn’t say it’s the food or the music or the flag on your wall. He said it’s courage. It’s sacrifice. It’s something you choose, actively, even when — especially when — it costs you something.

    I understood that for the first time not in Puerto Rico. But on a street in a Mexican neighborhood in Chicago, on a summer afternoon, looking at a flag I’d seen my whole life and finally, truly seeing it.

    Now I live between two places and I don’t know where I belong — or if belonging is even the right word anymore. Chicago gave me my pride. Puerto Rico gave me my roots. And every few months I’m on a plane asking myself the same question I still don’t have an answer to:

    Where do I go?

    I don’t know. What I do know is that wherever I land, I’m Puerto Rican out loud. Not because it’s easy or automatic or ambient the way it used to be — but because I know now what it means. What it cost. What it’s worth.

    Azul clarito. Siempre. 🩵  

    Gracias por leerme 😽

    Génesis🍒

  • Finding My Way Back:La Tercera La Vencida in Chicago?

    Finding My Way Back:

    La Tercera La Vencida in Chicago?

    Chicago, the city of skyscrapers, deep-dish pizza, and where winters freeze your soul (and probably your dreams too). Our relationship? Well, it’s been more on-and-off than I’d like to admit. And yet, here I am, once again, back in the Windy City for round three. This has to be the final lap, right? Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself. But let’s be real, Chicago and I have some unfinished business.

    Let’s rewind to 2015: I was supposed to go back to Puerto Rico for my fall semester after the summer, but UPR, being UPR 🤷🏽‍♀️, canceled three of the five classes I was going to take that semester. The other two? Online — back when remote learning was like the Death Star: an idea that existed but felt light years away. With most of my semester up in smoke, Mayra and a friend, both always full of wild ideas, laughed and said, “This is your sign from the universe. You need to stay in Chicago and do an internship.” The crazy part? I actually listened to them.

    The next day, I became the queen of LinkedIn, blasting out resumes like I was trying to fight off an army of Stormtroopers. Most places didn’t even bother to respond (classic), but one company, Paco Collective, got back to me faster than the Millennium Falcon in lightspeed. Before I knew it, I was saying, “I’m staying in Chicago this semester.” What started as a summer visit to my family and some of the OG Sobremesa Chicago crew turned into my first “big girl” internship in a city that was all hustle, deep-dish, and endless possibility.

    Fast forward to 2016, and I was ready to make my mark. I made the move full-time to Chicago. No more testing the waters — I dove in headfirst, terrified but buzzing with excitement for what was to come. The thing is, I didn’t need the unpaid overtime grind because I was doing something way more epic: being a full-time babysitter and the PR & Community Manager for Sobremesa Chicago. Double life? Absolutely. But who needs a ramen budget when Sobremesa Chicago pop-up leftovers and Spencer’s endless meal prep had my back? Thanks, Spencer! Not to mention the best quesadillas in Pilsen from “La Trilita.” RIP to my favorite spot — you are missed.

    And then, 2021 rolled around. After a pandemic-induced stint back in Puerto Rico — which, let’s be honest, was less tropical bliss and more 24/7 Zoom calls — I came back to Chicago early 2022. But it wasn’t the Chicago I remembered. My favorite restaurant in Pilsen had closed, Danny’s Tavern once the best place to DANCE 💃 🪩, my friends had either moved away or settled into new lives, and everything felt off. The magic of the city had been swapped for the kind of gentrification that makes you say, “Wait, was this always here?” Suddenly, I felt like a stranger in the city that once felt like home.

    In Puerto Rico, I had become known as “la alcaldesa,” but ironically, my true network was always in Chicago. Every major opportunity, every meaningful connection I had built, it all came back to this city. It’s funny — people in PR see me as this connected, influential person, but Chicago is where my roots truly run deep. I’ve always felt like I belong here, despite all the detours along the way.

    And then, the curveball: Texas🤠. That summer of 2022, I found myself in Austin — a city I never thought I’d fall for. But fall, I did. I started to see it as the fresh start I desperately needed. ATX felt like that new love interest that’s a bit quirky but has all the potential. I spent months overthinking whether I should make the move full-time, but eventually, I did what I always do: I jumped. In September 2023, I packed my bags and left behind the city that had defined so much of my adult life.

    Texas was great… for a while. But as much as I loved the BBQ, the sunshine, and the laid-back vibe, there was a pull I couldn’t shake. Chicago had its hooks in me. Even though I had left behind what was technically my dream job in advertising. I wasn’t done with Chicago. Maybe I never will be.

    So, now it’s October 2024, and I’m back. Am I crazy? Probably. Am I ready? I hope so. This city, for better or worse, has been the backdrop to some of the biggest moments in my life. It’s where I’ve grown, failed, succeeded, and been shaped into the person I am today. Sure, it’s not perfect, but neither am I.

    Chicago is the place that gave me my first shot, even if it came with its share of hard lessons. It’s the city where I learned what I want, and more importantly, what I don’t want. And while Puerto Rico may call me la alcaldesa, Chicago knows me for who I really am

    a hustler who’s always looking for the next move, always ready to reinvent herself.

    So, why come back? Why not just stay in Texas or even Puerto Rico? The truth is, I’m not done with this city. Chicago is more than just a place on the map; it’s a part of me. I know its flaws, but I also know its beauty. I’ve seen the way it can challenge you, but I’ve also felt the rush of what it means to succeed here. And who knows, maybe this time, the city and I are finally on the same page.

    La tercera la vencida? Maybe. Or maybe this is just another chapter in the ongoing saga of me and Chicago.

    Whatever happens, one thing’s for sure: I’m back, Chicago. Let’s see what you’ve got this time.

    Besiss

    Génesis ❤️‍🔥🔥