I am sitting at Via Delizia, after a day of absolute unproductivity, of endless cups of Portland coffee drinking, of too much creme brulee cheesecake eating, and mindless, yet lovely, banter with neighbors. (The owner, a lovely Italian man who appears to work endless hours every day, never seems to mind that I sit in his cafe too long.)
After peering at my gorgeous cappuccino this afternoon, I realized that these experiences are limited: I have just over two weeks of Portland time left. And, within those two weeks, I will have to somehow purge the non-necessities, pack up my belongings, complete my contract work, say goodbye to wonderful friends, and drive Betsy, Odo, Brooklyn and myself to Los Angeles.
My complaints about wet, gloomy, dark Portland days will come to an end. But, I will no longer be able to walk to Mami's, to walk to Whole Foods, to walk to countless cafes, shops, dance and yoga studios in my neighborhood. There will be no need to grapple with the concurrence of my love-dislike concerning my residence in the Pearl District. And, my winter coats will be useless, discarded for perpetual summer clothes, placed in indefinite storage.
A period of my life will end.
If that isn't enough to think about, I will simultaneously be working and planning the biggest move of my life, to a country where I know not a soul.
A year ago, if a stranger had sat at my table at Via Delizia and told me that I would be moving to work in Phnom Penh, Cambodia in a year's time, I would have laughed off the prediction as ridiculous, implausible, far-fetched.
Life never fails to surprise me.
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