Author: Di Lu

Program of Study: Chemistry, Physical Sciences Division (PSD)

Sometimes, all you need is the sound of waves and an open sky.

Description:

My personal reflection on finding peace by Lake Michigan—and uncovering the social and environmental inequalities hidden beneath its beauty.

Listen here:

 

Transcript:

Welcome to the ELI’s Finding Chicago Global Perspectives Podcast Series for AEPP 2025. I’m your host, Di Lu, and I’m currently enrolled in the University of Chicago’s Physical Sciences Division, Department of Chemistry.

When I first arrived in Chicago, I was lonely, a little homesick, and navigating a completely new life. During those first few weeks, I found myself drawn—almost instinctively—to Lake Michigan.

I would walk down to the lakefront and find a quiet spot to sit. I’d feel the sunshine on my skin, the soft wind on my face, and just listen to the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing. In those moments, the noise in my head would quiet down. The lake gave me a sense of peace and a strange kind of courage. It became my sanctuary—my own Walden Pond.

And soon I realized I wasn’t alone. Chicagoans have a deep, profound love for this lake. On weekends, the paths are full of runners and bikers. The beaches are dotted with families and friends playing volleyball, having picnics, and simply enjoying the day. In a way, the lakefront feels like the city’s living room.

But the more time I spent there, the more I began to notice subtle differences in how we all experience this same, magnificent lake. And that made me wonder… is a public space truly experienced equally by everyone?

On one hand, Lake Michigan is Chicago’s greatest democratizing force. The water, the waves, the sunset—they’re free for everyone to enjoy. Legally, the shoreline belongs to the public. You see people from all walks of life sharing the same view.

But when I looked closer, I began to see the contrast. For many families, a trip to the lake is a whole project. It means a long bus ride, packing food from home, and finding a spot on a crowded beach. It’s something they really look forward to, but it also takes effort and planning.

Meanwhile, on the north side, you see another world: private boat clubs, luxury apartments with their own stretches of sand, massive sailboats gliding across the water. For people in those spaces, the lake isn’t a special trip—it’s simply their backyard.

I’m not saying one way is right and the other is wrong. But it struck me as a powerful symbol of how cities work. The lake itself doesn’t care who you are—it’s there for everyone. But people do care. And the way money and power shape the city over time also shapes how we experience even something as simple as having fun by the water.

That raised bigger questions for me: Can we really call something a shared public space if everyone’s experience of it is so different?

And then, another layer emerged. The lake is not only a social mirror, but also an environmental one. In summer, parts of the shoreline sometimes close due to high bacteria levels or pollution. I wondered: who suffers the most when nature pushes back like this? For families who may only come once in a while, it could mean their long-anticipated outing ends in disappointment. But for those living in lakefront high-rises, the view from their balconies never “closes.” Environmental issues—whether pollution or climate change—don’t hit everyone equally, even when we’re all looking at the same body of water.

I also began thinking about access more broadly. Chicago is proud of its “public shoreline law,” but public doesn’t always mean equal. If you live on the South Side, reaching the lake may take two bus transfers and more than an hour of travel. If you live in the Gold Coast, it’s just a short walk downstairs. Technically, it’s the same lake for everyone, but the pathways to reach it are not the same.

To me, this shows a paradox. Nature itself is neutral, endless, and welcoming. The waves don’t ask about your income, your job, or your zip code. But human society filters that experience. In this sense, Lake Michigan is both a sanctuary and a stage where the city’s inequalities play out.

It makes me wonder: Is nature ever truly separate from human society? Or will it always reflect our social structures back at us, like a mirror?

Drawing to a close, my experiences with Lake Michigan remind me of a line from Thoreau’s Walden: “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.” In my own way, I came to Lake Michigan for the same reason. And in its waves, I found not just peace, but also a deeper understanding of Chicago—the beauty, the complexity, and the contradictions that shape this city.

Thank you for listening to my podcast.