One month in

Halloween. 

The city is surely arousing the inner Lokis, super stars,super heroes and otherwise uninhibited alter egos. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks casually recognizing all the possibility for frolic and debachery that is at my fingertips. However, I’d instead, become intent on running - into the chilly, grey, rain -  towards the water and the trees. Camping I thought, might be in my car if its pouring too hard to set up a tent, but I did not want to be in this city and there seemed no better time to acknowledge that than a holiday, when cities are the mecca of activity. 

I’d intended to stick out the daytime, joining Daniel and Alaina in a kid-friendly venture to the Kennedy School McMennamins. We arrived for a second airing of a live radio broadcast which told the story of a cursed mummy. As the show wrapped up, families began to arrive with what felt like the entire Portland population of lil’ tykes in tow. For the next half hour, we shuffled through the packed hallways where employees stood stationed to hand out candy around every corner. As Alaina dipped in and out to hit every sugar opportunity, I ogled the array of adorable costumes. Favorites? Totoro, the Brach’s Strawberry, Olaf, and the individual that decided to put a spin on this year’s influx of Star Wars characters and waddle through in a giant inflatable Jabba the Hut suit. 

With the kid-fix done, it was time to escape.

Then, the weather laughed in my face. 

I was stubbornly plowing ahead, even considering a drive as far as Packwood, when flood warnings began to arise. I put subtle feelers out for second opinions, knowing that in my reactionary state, I could very well end up choosing the irresponsible option if left to my own devices. I was ultimately talked down from leaving the city, let alone trying to camp.

I generally consider myself a rather flexible person. However, when I’m living in a high-stress state, I tend to fall into a fallacy of hardwired tunnel-vision. Once I’m in this mindset, I quickly develop blindspots to other options. I get set on the outcome I want and in this case, I wanted out. When the desired outcome doesn’t unfold, the host of ugly symptoms include: indecisiveness, figuratively implied neck-wringing of those nearby who try and have polite conversation, sensory paralysis, and not giving any fucks, flying or otherwise. 

My poor housemate was privy to my growing irritability, and although I generally possess enough tact to be polite with unfamiliars, the fact that we live together and that he has very parental qualities seemed to exhaust that buffer. 

Fortunately, despite my mindless behavior, I’ve at least grown more consciensious of when it happens and why. I mustered up enough awareness to accept my state of malcontent and explain the origins and process of my mental imperfections. As it goes, opening up this way allowed me to move through the negativity and release into accepting the reality of the moment. 

We moved on to let a mellow evening unfold. Daniel made a rockin’ dinner while I kept Alaina busy with art projects in between her serious job of passing out candy. Afterwards, her and Daniel braved the rain to walk the block, and I went out to meet a friend for a few ciders. Yet again, I’d found a temporary way to make sense of this discombobulated time in my life. 

The starving artist trend has continued in an exponentially negative fashion, sans the art. Before I keep whining, I will clarify that I am not feeling hopeless or resentful of the move as a whole. Right now, I’m simply confused as to what it all amounts to. My job with senior care, while I’ve come to enjoy the clients, has not proven to be near lucrative enough. My poor nonexistent budgeting skills have led to frivolous spending combined with sporadically placed stinginess in an attempt to compensate. Flights of fancy in my personal growth have continued to be dabbled with at best.

I’m still mindful enough to know that this is all a matter of perspective. Upon moving, I’d identified ways in which I felt it aided my growth, opportunities it gave rise to, and challenges that it would allow me to confront. All of those intentions are still present, somewhere under the overwhelming daily demands as I try and find a rhythm. 

Part of the problem is that I’m not all in. Packwood was a place where I could completely immerse myself and surrender to my position: There. Now. But here in Portland, I constantly have one foot on the gas and my imagination flitting through distant countries, or even nearby states. I dream of what life is like on the road and I wonder how many more times I have to try this scramble to find a steady income or a salary or a career life before I realize it’s not for me. I keep coming back to the same callings and visions of what my life could be like. And yet I keep challenging myself to fit this other sort of mold. 

I think that I will feel better once I find a second job. I’m vying for two amazing coffee shop positions right now, and I’ve got a shoe in the door at the newest downtown cider house…except that they are so new, that they don’t have enough business to hire anyone yet. The waiting is nerve-wracking and in the meantime, every pleasure is tinged with guilt. 

But I won’t deny that I’ve enjoyed some of the immediate investments I made upon moving. When I was a tourist to town last year, I discovered the ‘Yoyo Yogi’ yoga studio and promptly went back to get a membership. Their classes are versatile, soul-inspiring and body-working. I also got possessed to sign up for African Dance, which, while I’m a discoordinated disaster, has still been a neat experience.  Plenty of other groups and gatherings have caught my fancy, and it is only a matter of time before I delve into these communities. 

Today is the beginning of a new month. I’ve always felt that November is sort of this last stop for respite and recuperation before the winter months sweep everyone into a frenzy. I’m not inclined to make any verbose declarations of how I would like this month to go - I am more attracted to silence than to words right now - but if I am to set one intention this morning, it is to welcome a more graceful attentiveness back into my life this month.