And I End Each Day in a Song

05.24.09 Somewhere between Portland, OR and Chicago, IL: 2:51 pm. On a plane headed back to Chicago. The woman sitting next to me is stringing together beaded bracelets. She just made one for me at random. It is unlikely that I will ever wear it, but that act of kindness really made me feel something good. Yesterday, I spent the morning at the Portland Saturday Market and the Portland Farmers Market. The latter was especially great: a spread of locally and organically grown food, and a seemingly good group of people soaking it in along with the morning air and sunshine. I know this sort of thing exists in many cities, including Chicago, but it’s better in Portland. I saw a woman pushing a stroller and tattooed on her fingers, where you might typically find LOVE or HATE was the word BAKE. If there is a greater city, I have yet to see it. Most of the rest of the day was spent walking, reading, writing and just sitting and thinking.

I managed to get at least 6 hours of sleep last night and still catch the sunrise through the window again this morning. I needed both. Returning “home” is always depressing; the better the trip, the worse it gets. I know this going in and do it anyway. There really is no other way in my opinion. Well, this one was the best, and so it hurts the most. The next couple of days are going to be rough. I will crave being far and moving. I feel this way most of the time anyway, but it’s always enhanced and hanging right in front of my face immediately following a trip. Over the course of these coming days, I will spend a great deal of time lost in music, books, physical activity and exercise. Sitting here at this moment, I am immersed in Kafka and the music of Will Oldham and Scout Niblett. I know this feeling will lift, and I know it will return again. I know that. I know I will emerge with a greater vision and focus, having grown 10 feet taller.

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