A dragonfly perches atop a zip tie on a construction fence covered in dark green tarp by the Chicago Riverwalk. The scorching summer sun shines directly on its four black and white spotted wings, and rays of light bounce off the delicate veins, reflecting glimmers of gold among other jewel tones. Its thick abdomen, a dusty silver-blue, ends in two pincers set slightly apart. The dragonfly’s complex eyes concentrate on all of its surroundings, including the monolithic glass tower and copper toned complex just across the bridge, but focus mostly on what is ahead: the crisp blue sky scattered with small, wispy white clouds. At just about twice the size of the golden grommet beneath its body, the dragonfly looks into a world too vast to fully traverse, yet seems saturated with springing tension, with one thin leg poised behind it, ready to push off into flight at any moment.

The fog rolled over the city and out of sight on that unusually dry, but still rather hot Chicago summer morning. My parents and I stood sweaty and burning on the Riverwalk without a layer of gray clouds to shield us, even partially, from the sun. We had set out early in the morning to avoid this specific problem.

A few couples ambled along, and some joggers passed by, leaving behind a little whirlwind that teased the hair of whoever happened to be close. Men and women in business casual spoke to their earpieces, and the elderly drank in the view, hands clasped gently behind their slightly curved backs. My mother and father resumed walking briskly, eager to end our stroll and return to the hotel for an afternoon nap, but I lingered, taking pictures of the criss-crossed emerald shadows that the rusty bridge cast on the gently lapping water and enjoying the brief respite from the sun.

Eventually, after mindlessly walking forward for a few steps, head craned down to see which pictures were redundant, I looked forward with the intention of spotting my parents, but instead found the newly built River Point at 444 W. Lake Street. The concave parabolic arch at its base reflected a smaller bit of the Chicago riverbank, and the rest of the convex building reflected the top halves of other skyscrapers reaching toward a crisp blue sky. I squinted, eyes roving around the pale blue glass, wondering if it was simply my eyes and another bad case of double vision, or if the building truly looked like a large, glass version of a pillow box, the type that little party favors and candies came in.

After half a minute of jumping around and leaning forward over the water, I heard my parents calling my name from the end of the walk. I began to rush over, but they hurriedly signalled me to slow down so as not to scare the mystery creature. Small damselflies darted through the air, but one particularly large dragonfly had perched itself atop a construction fence. As soon as I had taken one picture of it, it rubbed its legs as if to say, “My job here is done,” and flew off over the water, gliding freely and taking leisurely dips every so often.

Later in the day, when we had returned to the hotel, my parents granted me the independence to explore Chicago on my own for the rest of the day as well as the entire next day. As soon as I had stepped out of the hotel again, this time on my own, even with the stifling blast of hot air, I felt free and even did a small skip-and-turn in the small crowd of suits and heels before heading into the city I loved, unfettered. With that, I stretched my arms back and promised myself that I wouldn’t be lost again on Madison Avenue when I returned that evening like I did last time. It was time to redeem and renew myself.

Those city adventures were short, but the small bits of wisdom I picked up, wisdom that I believe will help me in “adulting” later in life, will stay with me forever. I knew that in that short time, I would not be able to explore all the places that I wanted to visit, and that all I could do was enjoy what I was given, so I took that chance and dived into the city. In just one and a half days of roaming free in the city, I learned to treat myself without overspending, to give with caution, and to let myself be free of whatever worries that did not pertain to me at the moment. Today, because of these experiences last summer, downtown Chicago has become one of my favorite places of all time, and a specific scent that I can not hope to describe, a scent of freedom, is infused with my memories of the Windy City.