It took me five days to get up the nerve to share my first blog post. Of course, I had to run it by my spouse, kids and sisters to make sure I wasn’t making an enormous social blunder. They said they liked it!
I’m crying laughing, because if you can’t get your family to
lie say nice things to you, then your issues are much bigger than being afraid of what strangers will think. I don’t think they lied. I hope.
In the first post, I left you wanting more. Let’s pause for a sec and decide whom is wanting more. Tricky. I could have meant that I’m creating a literary cliffhanger that will leave you breathless until I continue my story. Let’s just say that probably didn’t happen (and if it did… well, it didn’t – I’m pretty sure). I could have meant that I’m just finished for the day and part of the story is that I want more. We’ll go with option 2, although, I really meant for it to be option 1, but I know that didn’t happen. So, 2nd one.
Back when I was a baby – hahaha. No! I’m not going back that far. The interweb doesn’t have that many pages for me to write on. Anyway, one year ago exactly, in December 2015, my spouse, handsome in his driving cap, walked into the security line at Denver International Airport; destination Portland. He had a big backpack and his composition book and his favorite pens and a smile. And a big wad of nerves, to be sure. New job. New city. Overwhelming newness while leaving behind family, friends and all things familiar.
And now, we’ve been in Portland for a year. PDX, Rip City, City of Roses, Bridgetown, Little Beirut, Stumptown. Little Beirut? I don’t know of a town with more nicknames. I’ll use PDX to save space. People, this place is beautiful. It’s green. The grass never turns brown! Even after the trees lose their leaves, they stay green, because moss grows on them. I can drive an hour and a half in any direction and be in a completely different landscape (likely in a body of water, but maybe a snowdrift).
PDX is part of a larger abbreviation called PNW (or Pacific Northwest for those of you who might have ignored geography in 4th grade). This part of the country(s) is serious eye candy. There’s no point in chewing gum here, because your mouth will probably always be open. P.S. I had to (s) country, because Canada gets to claim the PNW, as well. And, even thought it’s technically the PSW of Canada, it’s still really the PNW when you think of the Pacific coastline of North and South America. Enough about geography. Plan a visit. You won’t be disappointed.
So YES! Good move. Mostly. Which brings me to the blog and its purpose. I spent a few months acquainting myself with my new surroundings – taking pictures, entertaining visitors, trying to remember which direction is which, scoping out the best grocery stores, exploring the city center, a couple of trips to the coast, trips up the Columbia Gorge. Then, it was time to get a job.
I’ve been gainfully employed for longer than most of you have been breathing, so I wasn’t worried about getting a job here. Denver and Portland are pretty similar as far as the corporate landscape goes. I pictured something like 1. update resume 2. search some job boards 3. send resume to some awesome companies with a rock star cover letter 4. wait a reasonable amount of time to be notified of my impending interview 5. nail the interview and accept the position.
Aside from a 3-month contract position in a call center, it’s been crickets. I do, however, have a lot of emails from companies that assured me my resume is impressive. I felt mildly ok about it after two or three rejection letters. I mean, after all, my resume is impressive. Cough. A dozen rejections later, I now know that someone in Human Resources got a hold of that “impressive resume” term and tweeted it to all the other Human Resources people in the PNW. Busted.
New city. No job. Socially cautious individual. Three ingredients for limited human interaction. Some days, I haul my laptop to the coffee shop to
work on my novel catch up on Facebook and browse the job boards and caress a warm chai. And watch people. It helps just to know they’re there. I’m not giving up on the job, but while it’s December and nobody wants to think about anything except chestnuts roasting on an open fire, I figured out a way to talk to people without talking to people. Opus 57 was born.