loss

Oh Portland, City that I love,

I missed you more than you could possibly imagine. The memories that we have are paramount. Though I was able to visit briefly I remember why I loved you so. I remember your overcast skies that so beautifully tinted the world around me like a safety goggle secured over sensitive eyes. I remember smiles from strangers, walks downtown, chats with new friends, drives with old friends. But there is one thing that I forgot while I was away, a sense of home. I landed in your radiant city on a tiny little jet plane from somewhere south. I keep trying to convince myself that this new place could be my new home. But as my tiny feet hit the tarmac that Saturday afternoon I felt the one thing that I haven’t felt in quite sometime… I felt home. The adjustment was somewhat strange at first perhaps even a foreign memory of a repressed old feeling. I was skeptical of the caress of familiarity and it took me an hour or so before I recognized what it was. I simply felt home. In the arms of an old friend who greeted me even when I was at the worst. The memories embraced me like a warm childhood blanket on a cold winter day. Secure. Safe. Home. I was home. I had no idea how much I missed my grey skies or my fluffy green trees. Or that cold mountain. Memories… ten by ten they flooded in like the rouge river herself. Glitter on the sidewalks, brilliant bridges high and low, and family (biological and adopted). Leaving my beautiful city wasn’t easy. So I plugged my headphones in and listened to “Painting Pictures of Egypt” just one more time and then another. The theme song of my very soul. I keep waiting. I keep wishing. I keep praying. For something. Something to remind me that I am alive like I once was. Age has brought me a new feeling, a new set of neuro chemicals to make me wonder what on earth is next. This can’t possibly be what life is about. There has to be more. I keep telling myself that it’s the wrong timing, that I must wait… but I have no idea what I’m waiting for. Perhaps if it came now I wouldn’t recognize it just like the song says. Perhaps I’m just not ready. It’s not my timing after all. It’s His timing. My job is to trust Him. To lean on non linear thinking. I’m working on it. I know that I must be learning something right now. But I miss the intellectual times in my life and the physical times in my life… the times where and when I felt like I was on top of the world. I miss my times in Portland. I miss my times educating myself, learning new languages, experiencing new cultures, and breathing in the exciting and challenging moments in life. I know they are still there. But I feel blind lately. Mostly bored. A little disappointed in myself.  What am I supposed to be doing with my life and how am I supposed to be doing it? I miss the people who I used to talk this stuff over with. People like June and Pat and so many others. I miss the people who loved me even when I was vicious and ugly. They made me a better person. I don’t really know what I need at this point. Perhaps joining in on a new class at Real Life or calling an old friend. I’m not sure what I need. I do know for certain though that I need people. The extrovert inside me needs people. But I believe until I can find a “home” again I will have a difficult time meeting people. I need a home. A place where I have beautiful memories and can force myself to relax. But the timing is wrong. For now I will try not to Paint Pictures of Egypt but rather wait on my non linear timing.

-Me