I’m sitting here, alone on the couch in our apartment on our last night in Portland.
My time would probably be better spent doing more packing, vaccuuming, cleaning out the fridge, or any of the multitude of things still needing to get done, but I’ve decided to sit in stillness for a moment.
Tomorrow, we will load all of our belongings into a U-Haul and drive almost 1300 miles southwest, to begin a new life in San Diego, California.
…..It all feels so surreal.
Portland is where I truly found myself- or at least the parts that have been revealed so far. I’ve traveled extensively throughout my life, but had never really left my hometown of Seattle.
When I lost everything in the 2020 pandemic, I found myself living in my parents basement, just weeks away from my 30th birthday. Then, they sold their house and no longer had room for me and my two dogs under their roof, and I found myself on the verge of homelessness. With no permanent home, no relationship, no band, and having been laid off from the same job twice in one year due to the pandemic- I was really fed up with where I was, and I knew I couldn’t continue living in Seattle.
So I posted on social media. “I have two dogs, a bedroom’s worth of stuff, I can pay X amount of rent per month, and I’m willing to live anywhere on the West Coast. Who has room for me?”
Looking back, posing that question might have been the bravest thing I’ve ever done.
Within minutes, my dear friend Michelle messaged me that she had a bedroom available at her shared house in Gresham, OR. With gratitude, I packed my bags immediately and left Washington forever the day after my 30th birthday. When that house was sold 6 months later, I moved into the Irvington apartment I am now sitting in.
I learned so much in my time here. I’ve made new friends, supported myself, and met the love of my life. I swam in crystal clear rivers, breathed in as much engine exhaust as I did clear mountain air, drank and cussed with loggers and mechanics, fought like a tiger with men twice my size, and yet somehow, I also managed to get sober and reconnect with the tender, innocent parts of my heart that I thought no longer existed. I healed my soul by walking in the forests and along the beaches (which are all public, by the way. No private waterfront allowed in the whole state! I love it!)
Oregon gave me so much, and living here has been a dream.
But when I was young, I dreamed of California. “I hate this weather! Everyone here is so depressed and miserable! Six months and I’m gone!” I would repeat over and over. But it was really Seattle I hated. I hated how much it had changed from the place I had loved as a child. And part of me (a big part) hated myself for never having had the courage to leave my hometown.
But when I moved to Portland, I began to see the Pacific Northwest in a different light. There’s a connectedness to nature here that is impossible to deny. My favorite thing about our corner of the world is that a lot of people come here searching for some kind of unknown ruggedness within themselves: but only the strongest survive.
I once asked my Dad, who hails from the deserts of Eastern Washington, where the Wild West was. He smiled a little as he told me that we’re in it. There is no West of here. There is nothing connecting this land to the rest of the country but vast expanses of wilderness. The roads that go between are where I’ve always felt more at home than anywhere else. Wandering spirit, if you will.
I’m not nervous about the drive.
I’m nervous about leaving behind the wildness in me that will forever be as raw and jagged as the Olympic Mountains. The temper that heats up like the Columbia Plateau on a scorching July afternoon. The tears that flow icy and strong like the salty water of the North Pacific.
Then I remember- as much as I am part of this place,
It will forever be a part of me.
And you can’t take that out of the girl.
No matter how far she roams.
Norse Western 