The great experiment is over and it is time for me to leave Astoria. Apparently, I was the last person to know about my move. The apartment manager was planning for my departure. My friends thought I had already moved. “Oh, are you still in Astoria?” A neighbor said she’d miss me, although “you are never home”.

Since my life is planned in six month intervals, the Portland decision was slated for around the first of next year, a decision based on a pro-con list and a bottle of New Year Champagne. The opportunity to take over an apartment near downtown Portland moved up my decision. Yet every time I think about my move, I cry. My tears will not change the fact that I never really planned on staying in Astoria. I just did not know this fact until my quick pro-con list supported it. Astoria was a rest stop – a place to settle down for a moment, a place where I could unpack my suitcase, reflect on life as I watched the rain and listened to the sea lions, and take the time to grow into myself. A Portland friend once said my apartment looks like I’m camping out. One look around the place, with a haphazard hanging of a painting here or an empty flower vase there, proves his point. I never meant to stay. Not really. Somewhere in the muddiness of my conscience, I knew I did not belong.

The realization that I would take the Portland apartment hit me while I waited for three hours on a motionless Amtrak train, stopped a mere ten minutes from our downtown Portland destination. I was exchanging phone numbers and email addresses with a woman from Colorado who had befriended me as we waited to board in El Cerrito, California. (The same woman who pointed out I was traveling a bit too light, having left my suitcase on the walkway next to the train.) I looked at the Astoria contact list on my phone. I had a number for the doctor, the dentist, the hairdresser, the library, the substitute list of fellow food bank volunteers, but I noticed only one number for a friend. I’ve been in Astoria for almost two years and the only social contact in my phone is a friend who is in Astoria even less than I am. I have phone numbers for acquaintances in England, Scotland, and Italy. I have numbers for good friends in Utah and eastern Oregon. I have numbers for family in San Francisco and Portland and Idaho and Washington. I am able to make friends all over the world, quickly and without drama, but I chose to stay alone in Astoria.

It isn’t a problem of involvement. I joined the writing group, a wonderfully safe group of people with whom to share my creations. I volunteered at the food bank. I worked as a barista and when that ended, I wrote in cafes and coffee shops and chatted with other baristas. Tango on Saturday nights. The monthly art walk. As I look back, though, half my time in Astoria was spent leaving it.  And, honestly, will anyone in Astoria even notice I’ve gone for good?

My tears for Astoria are genuine and my love for this rough, wild place, even the relentless rain, is painful. Astoria is the person we loved at the wrong time. Astoria is that soulmate – the love that could never work.  Perhaps some cosmic force will align with the stars and there will be a time when Astoria and I can be together again. My transition is easier this time. I’m heading to an apartment I know, a neighborhood I recognize, friends and family, and yet, Portland will never be Astoria, because Astoria was my last hideout from life. Astoria gave me the chance to regroup, to gain the confidence to enter my new life, to reconnect with family without relying on ‘what ifs’ from the past. I learned to embrace possibilities in a place with limited opportunities. I’m finally starting over in Portland, recognizing the transition from the old perceptions of what my life should look like to a life less settled. Astoria taught me to accept changes and to steer my own life without excuses or blame, even if my wheels are a bit wobbly.

It’s been several months since I posted anything, but it seems natural to leave the “I” behind and make Portland the final destination for this blog.

Keep your alerts for this website and for the new content coming sometime in January (fingers crossed).

Love You All!