First of all, I realize there are maybe three people who read this blog. But that's alright. This is more my thoughts on a computer screen than my attempt to captivate readers. If you like what I say, congrats. If you don't, well, the internet is a big place. You can find pretty much anything out here.
And now, to my rant. I realize that was a poor transition, and I can feel the souls of English teachers past writhing in agony. Then again, the internet is filled with poor writing skills. Why not add to it?
Anyway, I have forty-one more days in Portland. That is just shy of six weeks, for those who dislike math. Six weeks have never felt so long.
Portland is a cool place, don't get me wrong. It's fun to visit- Voodoo Doughnuts, Powell's bookstore, the Saturday Market, et cetera. Portland is practically the food mecca of the US. There is an abundant supply of Thai cuisine.
But I am not crazy about living here. I moved here to be with a guy. He, in turn, stopped talking to me the moment I moved here. It sucks, but I am over it.
Unfortunately, this means I have been living here in order to participate in a plan that no longer exists. So that sucks, as well. However, within this, for lack of a better word, interesting situation, I made an incredible discovery- I was studying the wrong major. I am here at Portland State to study International Studies. What I really love, however, is Anthropology. I love it. Absolutely love it. Unfortunately, I would have to pay a lot of money if I switch majors here. So this summer, I am relocating to University of Utah.
I'm not going to lie- it's tough to live in a place that reminds you of a plan that no longer exists. I wake up here on a regular basis and feel overwhelmed by the amount of time I have left. However, there are moments- when I'm shopping at Powell's, when it is sunny out and I go for walks- when living in Portland is not a burden. Rather, I cannot help but feel like leaving Portland will be difficult. In a weird, twisted way, I've developed Stockholm Syndrome towards this city.
That's right, after everything, after all the complaints of hipsters, smokers, and homeless people, I will admit it- I like Portland. I can remember why I wanted to move here in the first place, and it wasn't just for a man. I wanted to be here because Portland manages to be a city without giving up trees. They have a rich and gritty history. Most of all, Portland is that rare gem of a city- it's urban and western. New York and Chicago are impressive places, no doubt; I respect both places, and not just because the best Anthropology departments are located at Columbia and University of Chicago. However, they are a part of the eastern US- the old US. To toss aside grammar and twelve years of English education, the West is where it's at.
And yes, this is basically the most emotional and metaphorical I'm going to get on a blog. I'm about as openly emotional as a printer. Some would call a person with my characteristics a "bottler." Those people are also psychiatrists, and I don't put much stock in their snake oil.
I will miss Portland. I will miss the farmer's market. I will miss Voodoo Doughnuts. God, will I miss Powell's. All this aside, I cannot wait to leave. Living in Portland is a fragment of a plan that ended in September, and moving to Salt Lake is the first step in my "un-plan." I don't have any goals besides enjoying life and investing my time in things that seem valuable to me. I listen to my younger friends fret about "what they want to do with their lives," and I know just how they feel. My only piece of advice to them is that they never have to know where their lives are going. They don't have to plan ahead. We're all so centered on what's happening in the future that we end up making our present miserable. And when the only thing guaranteed in our future is that at some point, we will die, who wants to live in a constant state of planning?
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