An Open Letter To:

I'm starting off this blog with what one might consider a fairly bitter post. But since I'm leaving Portland and I'm pretty bitter about it, I figure it's a good way to start. Yeah? Bear with me.


See, I'm not quite ready to leave Portland yet. I moved here a year ago for a job; I didn't know a soul. I've since made some of the best friends I've ever had, and I'll miss them terribly. And I'll miss the mountain (our friend, Mt. Hood, who peeks out on nice days), the coast (Cannon Beach and Seaside, especially during typhoons), the Rose Garden, the hikes in the Gorge, the focus on sustainability, the wineries, the waterfront, the restaurants, the live music, the MAX, the streetcar, the summer weather, my jogging path, the woman who meowed on the bus ... I could go on and on and on.




So I had drafted a letter to someone who shall remain nameless, for his/her success at essentially ruining Portland for me. But instead, I decided to take the high road and just let it go. Let it go, girl. And really, when it comes down to it, no one has control over your life but yourself, so it's pretty ridiculous of me to blame someone else for what happens in my life.

Instead, here's what I won't miss: the rainy winters, my apartment when I couldn't open the windows and had to go down 24 floors to let anyone in, the ounce (or two or three) of pretention in that city, the lack of diversity, the pain it is to get from the west side to the east side sans a car, the job, the bus during the middle of the day, the smell of the Crystal Ballroom on a hot summer day, and the freaks at the Burnside Fred Meyer. (That was kind of a struggle, to be honest. It's hard to find things I won't miss about Portland.)

So, I'm off to New York City. I'm giving it at least a year to figure out if I love it or I hate it. After which, I'm not sure where I'll end up. Perhaps Portland will call my name again. Or maybe it's finally time for me to move home to Kansas City. I don't know. All I know is I'm sick of saying good-bye and I'm sick of missing people. So if you all could just move to the city I love (Portland) and give me a great job (at a national magazine, preferably) I'd be eternally grateful.


When I left New York the first time, my cab driver to the airport told me, "New York is in your blood now. New York will always welcome you back." I guess now it's time.