my bedroom window overlooks the dumpster, a humbling and poetic view. lately, my mornings have introduced themselves to me with the clanking of bottles and squealing of brakes.
metal on metal, welcome to today.
before i even get out of bed, i’m reminded of where i am. portland is my address, and it’s in the process of becoming my home. it will be, i’m confident in that. my current project is constructing home inside of me. brick and mortar, striped shirts and sore muscles. rooms are built as walls are broken down. ready for more new rooms, new branches into the life i’ve joined.
a few days a week, i take a sleepy, 8am walk to the bus stop. i listen through the first half of the latest soccer mommy record, then i get off the bus and make coffee for people. i feel my barista work as the fresh earthiness of green beans roasting brown, or a whispering whirlpool of steamed milk. conversations between strangers and friends fill the spaces between shots.
after work, i go climbing. making home in this body, in this space. focused breathing, one move and then the next. my usual outfit of all or mostly black ends up fingerpainted with chalk. i feel my muscles deeply, the gentle tearing re-forming them stronger.
post-workout, there’s another bus ride and more blocks of walking. my roommate and i eat dinner with the kitchen window open. we pour wine and pick a movie, finishing each day with a different story.
my relationship with this city is a video in the process of buffering. blurry, moving forward. every few frames, smiles and steps appear with precision. play happens and the story advances. clarity is secondary to the process.
i can talk about process as a concept. living process as a reality is a whole different matter. my calendar tells me that i’ve been here for three weeks. i don’t know what the grace period is for moving across the country, but i’m sure it’s longer than three weeks. i forget people’s names and spill cappuccinos and miss the bus. but i also remember people’s names and pour latte art and learn shortcuts from place to place.
it’s a matter of perspective. i’m grateful to be the person i am in the place that i live in. each day is an instance of truth. and here i find myself, three weeks into the process. in three weeks more, the process will remain.
and with it, i will remain.
i will grow into this home.