There’s a special kind of air in Chicago. It tastes warm and verdant, laden with the promise of rain. The air tastes of summer, it’s life, it’s change. The city is brimming, about to tip over into summer storm.

Some cities grab you by the heart from the moment you meet them. Austin. Dublin. Cape Town. The magnitude of their beauty and their character are stunning. They fit into your life today, as well as the life you want to lead tomorrow.

I have never felt that in Chicago. I moved down here after graduating Northwestern because it felt natural, but not because I loved this city. I drool over the ocean and the sound whenever I go home, but I rarely visit Lake Michigan. The skyline here – one of the most famous in the world – has only ever been a silhouette to me. I’m almost disgustingly attached to my sense of place, but this city has only brought out my inner pragmatist.

That pragmatism started to change last year when I discovered the Y. The Y, officially called the Chicago Municipal Device, is a symbol that has been used in an official and unofficial capacity throughout the city.

The symbol is a Y, representing the three branches of the river. When you start looking, you find it everywhere. Bridges, sidewalks, buildings, fences. Finding the symbol has become a neverending scavenger hunt, a secret game I play with the city. Spotting the symbol for the first time, and then suddenly seeing it everywhere, was when I really began to love this city.

It’s taken me a long time to realize there’s a different way to love a place. The concept of “home” has always been both permanent and fluid. Home is the place you grew up, where you have your roots. It can also be the place you’ve made home, through careful nesting and the construction of routine. Home will always be Seattle.

But since 2009 – and really, since 2013 – home has begrudgingly been Chicago. I have carved a living into these streets in ways I never did in Seattle. I have explored, moved, cried, fallen in love, pinched pennies, and built a community here. And still, I hold the city itself at arm’s length.

I’ve realized this city won’t ever win me over with hyperbole or grandeur. What I love most about home – the majesty of the Olympics, the smell of the vast ocean – I can’t force on Chicago. When I’ve loved living here, it has been because of small moments. The way trees lace their fingers over long quiet brownstone streets. The sunrise I see clamboring up to my el platform some mornings. The blue of autumn Sundays. Secret symbols hidden in the city. The summer air.