Where I've Been: Maine

I was at the airport for a lot of October. It was busy busy. Instead of talking your ear off (typing your, uh, eyes off??), I'll let the photos tell the story.

First: I headed to Maine for my birthday. Oh, it was lovely. I visited Annemarie at Salt Water Farm and she cooked me a tasty lobster dinner for my 26th. (She cooked it, but I killed it! What? You, Ms. Vegetarian? Yeah, more on that later.)








Go, go, go to Camden, Maine, and visit Annemarie. She'll cook you something amazing and teach you how she did it. Plus, it's simply beautiful up there.

Lost my mind in Oregon

Have I mentioned lately how much I love Portland? And how much I miss Oregon?



Don't get me wrong: I love New York, too. But where else can you just climb a mountain and stand on the edge of the world better than you can in Oregon?


I took a much-needed vacation to Portland over Memorial Day. First on my must-do list? Hike. Nicole and I climbed Saddle Mountain this time.

We were supposed to see Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Hood, Mt. Rainer and the whole Pacific coast from the top.


But by the time we go there, our heads were literally in the clouds.

And this was as good as it got. But I'm not complaining one little bit.

Then we headed to the coast—Ecola State Park—which may be my favorite place in the entire world. The rest of the weekend was filled with bagels, coffee, crossword puzzles, Sauvie Island, Portland Saturday Market, four-square, beer, barbecues, good runs, beautiful weather and sun.


But most of all, I saw the people I miss. It's true—I don't think I'll ever be able to shake myself from Oregon.

Oh, Bliss

I'm very tardy in posting about Mrs. French. See her blog, Bliss, over there on my "other lovelies" list? She's a Portland friend, and she's recently launched her Etsy shop, blissfulimages, filled with ethereal, beautiful original photography.


Like what you see? Find more here!

Also, the following image, Paper Web, will soon be added to Urban Outfitter's arsenal of wall art. Find it in stores in early spring.


Congrats, Mrs. French!

Back

When I was in Portland, I was always well aware of how long I'd been there. (Four months, two weeks. Eight months. Ten months. A year.) It wasn't that Portland was a perpetual ticking clock; the job was. I was painfully aware of how long I'd been there and how much longer I had to stay in order for it to be "acceptable."

Someone recently asked me how long I'd been in New York, and I strangely had very little clue. Two months? Four months? Ah, just more than three months.


Yup, it's true.

By the way, I know the last day I posted was Election Day, but I just have to say:

... best night spent with 500 Brooklynites ever. In short, best night.

Why have I been away so long? You know, busy, busy. But, I've taken up reading again (how I missed you!) not watching TV, and staying far, far away from the computer at night (really!). Won't stay away so long anymore.

Quite the Feat

I just have to give a quick shout-out to a favorite professor of mine, who--after kicking breast cancer's arse--achieved her goal of climbing East Spanish Peak. It's quite the mountain, I might add: a mere 10,700 feet. Congratulations, Pat!

I'm pretty lucky to have mentors like her who have helped me through all my career moves thus far. In fact, Pat was the one who told me that if my job wasn't making me happy and if it started making me question my talent or skills, it was time to say "adios."

But what stuck with me the most was when she said, "girl, go climb a mountain."

So, I did. Another plus of Portland was that in a mere 45 minutes, you could forget everything in the city/job/life and go climb a mountain. So, I called Nicole on a Saturday morning in May, and told her I wanted to hike Dog Mountain.


Now, it's not nearly 10,700 feet, mind you ... only about 3,500, if that. Hiking this gorgeous path wasn't the most strenuous or most difficult thing I've ever done (though it certainly did kick my butt in some parts). I didn't get to the top and feel that I'd accomplished one of the biggest, most life-defining things in my life. But who cares? I still felt fantastic, looking at Mt. Hood who was peeking out in one direction, and Mt. St. Helens who was peeking in the opposite. After all, I hadn't ever climbed a mountain before, so this felt pretty damn good.

That's Mt. St. Helens saying hello.

Most of all, it provided a bit of clarity. We're all deserving of jobs, relationships, and experiences that make us happy; and it's not selfish to admit that when something's not up to par, it's time to make a change. And although I could have stayed up at the summit of Dog Mountain all day, relishing in my small feat, I knew eventually it was time to come down, harness that bit of clarity, and re-join the world. I quit my job just a month later.

She'll kill me for posting this. Sorry, Nicole! It's the only photo I had!

And out in New York, there are certainly still mountains to climb. They're just a little different. I've conquered the first little foothills to some extent, I think, since I have six interviews in six days, starting the day after I arrive. It'll be busy and stressful and overwhelming, but most things worth it are. After all, we're all climbing our own versions of East Spanish Peak and Dog Mountain everyday, right? That's life.

John W Golden prints

Found John W Golden's etsy shop via Decor8. I love his simple graphic typography, especially his Moniker Series, prints of some of the best cities' nicknames. My favorites (naturally):


Just add in "Cowtown" for KC and, um [insert nickname for Des Moines here], and I'll have a full set.

Also love:

And I'll leave you with this print, from his Dogs and Cats series, as an homage to my Tess and Haley:


Oh, and one for Rigby, too (can't ever leave her out):

Stumptown in NYC

Hurrah! A bit of Portland in NYC:

Stumptown is opening TWO locations in New York

This helps.

Kansas City, Here I Come

Or, more accurately, Kansas City, Here I've Been.

It's been two weeks since I've left Portland. And since then, I've been to nine states: Oregon, Washington, Georgia, Missouri, Kansas, Illinois, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Iowa. It's been a busy few weeks. It's keeping my mind away from being currently unemployed (which really, I'm not, considering I've kept up my income and then some freelancing ... thank goodness).

My days are filled with applying for jobs, working on freelancing, sending out packets of cover letter, resume, clips, cover letter, resume, clips.

And somewhere in between, I went to a good friend's wedding, saw my friends from college, came home, (cover letter, resume, clips, yet again) then went up to Des Moines for a few days. I mostly went to get a bit more freelance work, but ended up squeezing all I love about Des Moines into 48 hours: went to the fair (you do know it's on of the 1,000 Places to See Before You Die, right?), had salad and pizza at Centro, enjoyed wine and cheese on a good friend's porch, had a bean burrito at El Rodeo, sat outside at Snookies, and woke up early to spend all morning at the world's best farmers market (sorry, Portland, I love you, but Des Moines kicks your butt when it comes to farmers markets).




I realized one thing: I'm lucky. I'm a lucky lucky lucky girl. Not only do I have friends all across the country, I have good friends who honestly care about me and my happiness and success. And who will eat bad Mexican food with me, go for a swirl cone at Snookies right afterward, then sit around and watch the Olympics on a Friday night.



For a while upon coming back to KC and leaving Portland, I was afraid I couldn't really ever come home again; that things change too quickly and they won't ever quite be the same when you return. To be honest, I did feel a bit like an outsider in Des Moines, not living there anymore. And I think what I'm really afraid of is that some day, I'll go back to Portland and it will be so different than when I was there this year -- that Portland will have forgotten me.

But, I never felt such a warm homecoming as when I did going back to Des Moines. I was booked solid with breakfasts, lunches, coffees, and dinners. I can only hope New York welcomes me back with such open arms; and that Portland will, too, when I find my way back there even for just a visit.

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.