Old hanger in the now-empty closet. It reads: Help me! I don’t belong here.
It’s time. Time to leave the life that I’ve known for many years. Time to move on and forward. Time to take a step away from the safe and into the unknown. If you’re coming here to visit this blog as a friend, family member, loved one, fellow writer or editor, enemy or worse, then you know a bit about what this is all about. If you don’t, the general gist is this: I’ve lived in Portland, Ore., for a long time. Now I’m moving to Scotland. In a rather round-about way. I’ll be driving across the country for three weeks, landing in Scotland after that, and then… well, who knows?
So, tomorrow–after weeks of packing, planning, prepping and getting rid of nearly everything I own–I’ll be driving out of this place I call home. I’ve already lamented about what and who I’ll miss–so much and so many–so here I’ll just focus on looking forward.
Way back when I arrived here, Portland welcomed me with pouring rain. Huge drops that shattered against the windshield and made it impossible to see. Fast-moving trucks hauling…something…that tried to swipe my then tiny Honda Civic off the road. I came into Portland along the Columbia Gorge and nearly died between the weather and the big trucks and the exhaustion and slippery hands on the wheel. And, yet, glutton for punishment that I am, I fell in love with Portland. The city. The mentality. The places to ride my bike and drink coffee and write. The opportunities. The people.
But I know I’ve worn out my welcome here. The city is changing. And despite all its dynamics, I can feel myself growing stale within its confines. So, tomorrow, I head out. It’s supposed to rain. To pour, actually. Which seems fitting. I hope Portland kicks me out with the same fierce drive that it welcomed me in.
Far and fast, s.
“One always begins to forgive a place as soon as it’s left behind.” -Charles Dickens