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Sunlight breaks through the cloud onto Chicago’s skyline Sunday, Nov. 30, 2025.(Brian Cassella/Chicago Tribune)
Sunlight breaks through the cloud onto Chicago’s skyline Sunday, Nov. 30, 2025.(Brian Cassella/Chicago Tribune)
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How do you picture Chicago in 2050?

Voices from around the city will explore what Chicago could and should look like in 2050 in a series of essays. These pieces will publish each Sunday through May 10, starting this weekend.

This collection represents a collaboration between Tribune Opinion and World Business Chicago, whose Horizon Lines: Visions for Chicago 2050 initiative also includes a design competition inviting the public to share the bold ideas and civic investments Chicago could make in the next 25 years.

After the series has been published here, World Business Chicago expects to republish the essays.

 


 

People soak up the sun on an unseasonably warm day along the lakefront while snow and ice melt on Feb. 15, 2026, in Chicago's Lakeview neighborhood. (Brian Cassella/Chicago Tribune)
People soak up the sun on an unseasonably warm day along the lakefront while snow and ice melt on Feb. 15, 2026. (Brian Cassella/Chicago Tribune)

Mary Schmich writes her dreams for the future of her ‘complete city’

A couple of years ago, I was at a party when someone asked, “Why do you stay in Chicago?”

This person was from some smaller, gentler town and was perplexed by my dedication to a place that freezes in winter, boils in summer and, if you’re lucky enough to own a home, pummels you with property taxes.

I could have answered that I stay because Chicago is home. Because I have a community of people who make my life meaningful. Because I can walk or bike along that great, blue lake and marvel at the skyline, even as I wish there were fewer pooping geese to share the view.

I didn’t say those things. Instead, a thought landed on me with the force of revelation, and ever since it’s been my shorthand for why I live here: “I stay because Chicago is a complete city.” Read more here.

 


 

A person walks southbound in the 6900 block of South Ashland Avenue in Chicago's West Englewood neighborhood on March 19, 2026. (Chris Sweda/Chicago Tribune)
A person walks southbound in the 6900 block of South Ashland Avenue in Chicago’s West Englewood neighborhood on March 19, 2026. (Chris Sweda/Chicago Tribune)

Tonika Lewis Johnson imagines a city skyline that bridges racial dividing lines

Imagine discovering that someone else lives at your exact address — 15 miles away.

One person lives in Chicago in the 6900 block of North Ashland Avenue. The other lives in Chicago in the 6900 block of South Ashland Avenue. Their homes share the same street name in the same city, but they exist in neighborhoods shaped by very different histories — North Ashland largely white and affluent, and South Ashland predominantly Black and long disinvested.

When these two residents meet and walk through each other’s neighborhoods together, the differences between North Side and South Side become visible almost immediately: housing conditions, neighborhood resources, commercial activity, safety, even the presence of trees.

But their conversation reveals something deeper. Segregation in Chicago did more than determine where opportunities accumulated and where they did not. It also prevented our social networks from being as diverse as the city. Read more here.