Reflecting on a Night in Milwaukee
Recently, my wife and I took a spontaneous trip to Milwaukee. I was there for work, and she decided to tag along for some leisure. With our kids safely at our parents’ place, we enjoyed a solid 30 hours of blissful peace.
When you’re deep in the throes of parenting, a night away can feel like hitting a reset button—like a mini meditation retreat. It clears your mind, if only briefly. This trip was good, enjoyable, and oddly introspective.
We found ourselves sitting on the rooftop of Venelax in the Third District. We started daydreaming about how our lives might be different had we chosen not to leave. What if we didn’t have kids? What if nothing had changed? What if we just stayed there?
Memories of a Different Time
Before our children, we lived in Milwaukee for several years. Our home was this expansive loft with raw concrete floors and lofty ceilings—just one giant, empty room. The only distinct space was the bathroom. Being on the eighth floor, we enjoyed a stunning view of downtown.
We improvised back then, using shipping pallets to create separation in our space. I was pretty broke—actually, we both were. Moving to Milwaukee felt risky; I even convinced the landlord to rent us the loft without proof of income. It’s hard to pin down why she agreed—maybe times were different, maybe she was just incredibly kind, or perhaps I managed to put on a convincing charm. Likely a bit of all three.
Unexpected Resources
A few weeks after settling in, we found an abandoned shopping cart at a nearby bus stop. We took it home and made it our grocery shopping companion. It was quirky, pushing an empty cart into the store, and then returning with it packed full. We probably looked a bit ridiculous, but it worked like a charm.
Those years in the concrete loft were special and gave us plenty of fantastic memories, a sturdy foundation for our lives. However, revisiting felt peculiar. We hadn’t returned in years, but in many ways, we felt unchanged, even while everything around us had morphed.
Time Travel Isn’t Possible
There was a sort of dissonance in my memories. I half-expected someone to approach us and ask, “What are you doing here?” It was like wandering down a detour before rejoining a familiar highway—a strange and surreal experience.
Perhaps it’s just how life works. We can’t rewind time or alter the past. It’s impossible to relive who we once were. Maybe trying feels like constructing a replica of an old town in a new place. It’s not quite right, is it? Why even want to go back?
No Regrets About the Past
Honestly, I don’t yearn to return to those days. Strolling around, the two of us couldn’t help but reminisce about our past selves while also acknowledging how much we’ve grown. Those memories are treasures, of course, but they don’t mean we want to go back physically or even mentally. We genuinely appreciate where we are now—wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Sitting on that rooftop again, we mused about what life might have been without children. It could easily have played out differently. Time would’ve flowed the same, aging us both, but we’re simply not the same people anymore. Sitting together, we share a touch of nostalgia, yet there’s gratitude too for who we’ve become.
Finding Comfort in Change
I think that’s natural—feeling nostalgic yet also drained by past sentiments. We’re meant to honor those younger selves, chuckling at our naivety. That’s growth, after all, and it’s a positive thing. Feeling a bit out of place when revisiting an old life is part of the process. We’re not who we used to be, and that’s perfectly okay.
The next morning, we headed back toward the ferry. As we crossed Lake Michigan, watching Milwaukee fade into the distance, we were filled with appreciation for our earlier life while simultaneously feeling grateful to be back in the present.
