The Siren Call

[katemn]

I moved to Portland in the summer of 1998, six weeks after finishing my master’s degree in Art History from the University of Oregon and after landing my first full time job with benefits at the Portland Art Museum.  I found an apartment on the third floor of a 100-year-old Victorian in one of Portland’s tony historic neighborhoods. 

If you have never been to Portland, or have never lived there, it was like landing in the middle of paradise.  As a single girl, educated, with a great job, and with slightly upper-crust tastes, I soaked in every morsel of the eclectic and world cuisines, fashion, cultural experiences, outdoor activities like biking, skiing, and walking through my neighborhood.  Not to mention yarn shops, the largest bookstore in the world, and the coast a mere couple of hours’ drive away.  And, most importantly, what I’ll call the best church in the world: spirit-filled, with a sense of love and compassion toward all human beings, no matter the prejudicial categories we like to shove people into. 

I didn’t really love the cloudiness, the fact that I lived alone and had no one to talk to at the end of the day, the fact that my job underpaid me and thus I was always broke, or that I just couldn’t seem to find that guy that would come to church with me and give me a ring and some children.   But never mind that. 

I still feel the siren call and will most likely, the rest of my life, no matter where I live.   Portland is simply glorious: a community, a vocation, a love affair, a test of survival, a match of wits, a place to be yourself no matter who that is.

I moved away in 2003 to go to Colorado where that guy, the one who went to church with me and gave me a ring and promised children, lived.  In the Odyssey, Odysseus tells his men to put wax in their ears so they would not hear and be distracted by the sirens’ sweet song, and to strap him to the mast so that he could still hear the singing, but would not be able to jump into the ocean.  Moving away from Portland made me feel at times like Odysseus, hearing the song but strapped to my decision and my commitment to make a life with Daniel. 

I spent the first day of our trip not caring how tired my kids were or how frustrated my husband was.   Going to church at St. M’s again and being in the places I used to call my own were intoxicating.

That night I lay in bed, alone since Daniel hadn’t come to bed yet, curled in a ball wishing with all my heart that I could find a way to come back.   Tears lay hot against my cheeks and my stomach was a knot.

In the morning I realized that I am home no matter where my family is, and that it was time to start letting go of Portland.  (Five years later…)

The hardest part of letting go is knowing that I will be coming back on a regular basis every couple of years, at least, to visit friends and family.  The other hard part is that everywhere I go, in Portland or out of it (since I lived in Corvallis and Eugene too and traveled all over the state), there will be a memory attached, and some of those memories I only think of when I am in that particular place.  Hopefully, though, with each successive visit I’ll make new memories with my family and the people I’m visiting.

For example: giving Chloe her first saltine cracker at Mo’s seafood in Newport.   Watching Andrew play on the beach in that unselfconscious way only a small child can do.  Observing from a high window of a beachfront hotel the small form of Morgan climbing over the rocks and tidepools and also watching Daniel’s heart soften as he observes Morgan, too.   Being down on Portland’s waterfront with my dear, smiling, foot-skipping friend Melissa, from whom Chloe got her middle name, and with whom I traded a piece of my heart a long time ago.   Seeing the light in my soul-friend Stephanie’s eyes as she runs a practiced hand over a hank of merino or alpaca, and knowing it’s reflected in my own.  Enjoying a happy hour with beer and munchies in the kitchen of my aunt and uncle, who open their house to all and sundry, and then partaking of the most civilized, delicious meals I can think of where everyone is equal.

Perfect logistics aside, it was about the most perfect trip I have taken in a long time.  When we got on the plane and started down the runway, I felt deliciously like I had kidnapped my entire family and that there was nothing they could do about it, they were going to my Portland with me.  

I truly feel, that if I had stayed in Portland I would not be where I am now: married, a homeowner, with children and an interesting, well-paying job.  I would not have been able to realize my dreams if I had not taken the risk to move away.   Siren call indeed.

Now that I’m back home in my dusty house in rural Colorado, I have settled back into the things I’m becoming ever more familiar with…and no longer yearning, just wanting to do the work I have to do here.

[MommaK2007]

Jun. 16, 2008 at 8:14 AM Kate, bless your heart!  I know it's been a bittersweet experience going back.  I'm so glad that, in the end, it has strengthened your resolve and your appreciation of the life you have now.  There will always be the road not taken, and wondering about it is okay, but it's wonderful to embrace the path you're on.

[Bell49]

Jun. 18, 2008 at 10:55 PM Oh how I totally understand what you are saying.  We only live 2 hours from where I grew up but since JB's health problems & his Dr's being in the city I grew up in (him too for that matter) ... we visit there frequently (for almost 3 yrs now).  I even have the joy of staying in the house I grew up in ... every time we're there I feel a kind of peace, then I'm torn when we leave ... tis bitter sweet.  I haven't as yet gotten past those feelings ... the siren's song ... oh how I know that song.  I'm so happy for you that you could kidnap your family and share with them the joy you lived in Oregon.  Thank you for sharing ... Bell