I’ve had it in my head for quite some time that I should write a few entries about what it’s been like to pick up and move to a brand new place you know, literally, nothing about. So here begins a few part series as I sit and reflect a little about what it’s been like moving here to Portland, what life is like now, the things I love so far about this place, and what I see the future being like.
Warning: This is more journaling than anything else. I suppose a blog is suppose to be entertaining and contain short posts of humor, but this has never been one of those blogs. So I will continue to use this space as a place to rest my thoughts and allow them to air out and begin to grow.
I think almost everyone needs to do what I did at some point in their life. They need to get away from everything that is familiar, or has been familiar for quite too long, and move to a place where they do not know anyone, and begin to establish their lives in the unknown spaces and with unknown faces. It’s an adventure that we all should experience, and most of us do. For some it is going away to college. It’s the first time that some people leave home and live in an unfamiliar place and have to get used to the new streets, the new weather, the new night life, etc. Of course, the difference is that they still have a home somewhere, and most likely each summer they go back to what is comfortable – so their is never a real feeling of complete abandonment of the old. Some end up living where they went to college, and this seems to be quite natural as college provides a nice buffer between one place and the next, allowing people to make new acquaintances, find jobs, and get to know an area at a time in their life when new experiences are encouraged!
For me it was quite different. I went to college an hour away from where I grew up, so it wasn’t exactly a new “feel”. Southern California is Southern California… it’s all pretty much the same. So I never really left my home town… I never got away from all the ties that I had in Thousand Oaks, and it began to freak me out that I would ALWAYS be stuck there. To be fair, I know that some people love Thousand Oaks and think it’s the best place to live in the universe, and that’s great and all, but when you really know something, it begins to lose its appeal. Thousand Oaks is one shiny, sparkling, polished – turd. Sure it might smell like fresh pinesol or whatever, but it’s still a turd. And it was beginning to make me feel nauseous.
But I had established roots in Thousand Oaks. Deep roots. Roots that held me there after high school, and throughout college. Roots that made Robin and I feel like I needed to stay there and Robin would be the one to live in a new area, make new friends, find a new job, and get used to a new life. Those roots were almost entirely in the church I was working at. I had started going there in High School and had gotten very involved – but it wasn’t necessarily my involvement that kept me there, it was the relationships. The people I worked with (people like the Milligans, the Markums, the Hartmann’s, the Gabriels) and some of the kids in the youth group, became like family, and family is hard to leave behind. That’s why all those old school Italian families all live together forever. Once you begin to be able to trust in people, and know that they have your back and you have theirs, it’s hard to give that up. Friends as close as family don’t come a dime a dozen – they are rare, and something that rare is hard to give up. They took care of me, and helped me become who I am today. They befriended Robin and made her feel at home in a new place. We became a part of their families, and they a part of ours. It’s what any Christian longs for in a church, community. And that is hard to leave – even if the town you live in begins to give you nightmares because your past lives there.
But eventually the sweet fragrance of adventure and the stale stench of saturation began to push and pull me to Portland.
About January of this year, the shit hit the fan and I could not hide the feelings that were boiling beneath my skin. I was DYING to get out of there… literally. I could feel it in my muscles, in my bones and deep in my soul… this town was wearing me out, and wearing me down. I began to tell people, and I pursued my dream of moving North.
I knew that people did not understand, they could not understand. Perhaps they thought I was crazy to give up such a good job, a great house, and amazing friends just because I was sick of a place.
But it was more than a sickness… it was like a parasite that was eating away at my insides and I was feeling so empty. So bare. So fragile and hopeless. The only answer was to leave… to start over somewhere else, somewhere new, somewhere beautiful, somewhere cold and rainy, somewhere near a river… somewhere near trees!
PORTLAND!
Leaving was strange. There were only a two moments I can think of when I felt the need to cry… the hurt of leaving what you love behind.
Once was in the beginning, when I told my boss what I was feeling… those were tears of peace – of confession – and of fear. Fear cause I had no idea what was in store now that I had decided to leave.
The other time was when I was taking a student home, one of my closest friends, and he began to cry. It really hit me hard… I don’t think I really realized what I meant to some of them… and in a way I suppose I was being selfish in leaving, and I cried after I dropped him off – because I was going to miss them all so much.
But the day we packed up our house into a van, said our goodbyes, and drove away… I felt nothing but satisfaction and excitement.
The road ahead of us was like a road to freedom. I felt like I had been in chains for the last 5 years of my life and I was finally being released… I could see the sky again. I could feel the cool air on my skin, taste the sweetness of life, and dream the dreams of tomorrow.
I was on my way… to Portland.
