smileytraveler

Portland, Oregon – From a paper journal dated August 17, 2017

(I believe this was a follow-up to my passionate rant. Probably.)

Southeast Portland River Bank

Don't care about Sellwood anymore. Don't care about Division. Don't care about Hawthorne. Or the Pearl.

Don't care about Voodoo Doughnut. Or Tasty and Sons. Or Imperial.

This is the other Portland. A dreary brown beach sparking with what appears to be thousands of tiny glass shards.

Not a hipster in sight.

Lots of Mexican families. Lots of doggies. Not a single kid dressed in felt and crochet. I'm one of five white people I can see.

I like it here.

Poor dude bobbing around in a kayak as the wave runner bros blast by: Woooooooooooooooo!

The world is a messy place. So beautiful and so goddamned horrifying.

I guess when everything is perfect and pristine, when everyone has everything and can experience anything, nothing matters anymore.

Some shit's only wonderful cause other shit's hard.

I remember the malaise, right after I graduated high school (exactly 20 years ago). I still remember exactly where I was: Pines Boulevard, just west of I-75.

Life is too easy.

I'm fuckin' miserable because I haven't had any problems lately. Months and months with no problems.

Was I just bored? Maybe.

I don't know what it was but months without problems and perfection fed to me on a spoon gave me a sick feeling in my belly.

Still does.

At the end of the day, Portland is suburbia. Suburbia full of cool people. But suburbia nonetheless.

Sometimes I just have to be somewhere calm and pretty. Get over the constant weird-seeking.

I was so excited to come back here but, alas, I have to come to terms with the fact that inspiration comes from a very different place now.

Like a high school boyfriend, you're still pretty cool. But I'm happy I now know what else is out there. The crush has faded and you are no longer the center of my universe. You are still cute, but older, grizzled, matured. I think it's time I start looking for a lawyer or accountant.

I looked forward to your adorable little shops, full of adorable little handcrafted things. Now I don't care.

I'm empty while browsing. Antsy.

Later that day, at Laurelhurst Park

Guitars and falsetto.

An island of innocence between the grit and gore of Burnside and NoPo's slow, dusty, almost apocalyptic vibe.

This past year of debauchery was pleasing. But it's got to end. It's time for me to chill the fuck out, get my monk on, and head into the woods to live off my plentiful onboard energy.

All the bike riding and Crossfit was not enough to stem the tide of blubber...I certainly tried. While more is usually better, I'm not sure that applies to chins. It's extremely difficult for me to sit in certain positions because once again your food, wine, beer, horrific donuts, and quirky breakfast joints got the better of me. I have no regrets, but I feel sick. Overindulged. And I'm ready to leave.

It's almost four and I guess I'll try to blow through as many old 'hoods as I can. I'm not dying to move here anymore, nor sad to leave and eager to come back like the olden days.

I guess that makes our time together today quite special.

Settling down somewhere is the worst thing I can think of. But it's probably the best thing for my health, both physical and mental.

Traveling all the time sounds great. But it turns life into one big party. One big “special occasion”. That's the dark side.

Healing, normalcy, familiar faces, routines, and a sense of place are good for humans.

While you have bumper stickers that say “Keep Portland Weird”, other cities have bumper stickers that say “make X weird”. And it seems their campaign is working...everybody's weird now. This trip was disappointing because you're not unique anymore.

I do believe you were on the cutting edge of weirdodom, but now you have competition.

I no longer have to travel here for artsy people. They're everywhere now.

I no longer have to travel here for beautiful nature. I've learned to find it wherever I am now. Even in my flat, seasonless swamp.

I never thought I'd find another place like you. But the truth is, I have.

This trip has been weird.

Portland, while you've certainly changed, I've changed more.

You are still you. Just different.

Maybe back then I didn't notice your faults because I was so in love. I saw no tents. No shopping carts. No doo-doo. Perhaps I overreacted when I called you disgusting the other day.

So it's my last day here and I finally made it to Laurelhurst park. I used to practically live here. It brought so much inspiration to my art career. It isn't quite the murder and mayhem I'd expected. Only a couple pieces of trash. A fresh bank of port-a-cans. No needles. No crackpipes.

It's every bit as fabulous as I remember.

Brilliant green. Gauzy cyan and sea foam. Shade, texture, and light.

The duck pond is still ducky. The guitars and bongos still pumpin'. The beautiful young hippies still neckin'. The acro-yogis still yoga-ing. The tightrope walkers still tightroping. (Those are cool, gotta get me one.) A birthday party with pirate hats and piñatas, lazy families with non-lazy dogs. Oh look! An off leash area!

Maybe in a few years I'll look back on what I write here and miss you, just a little.