I’m spending thirty days in Brooklyn. The odd thing was, when I pulled up to the AirBnb that I’m staying at in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn, there was a giant sign above the apartment building.
“No freaking way,” I uttered out loud to the strangers walking the streets around my new home.
Up above my head, high enough that my neck had to fall back a little bit so my eyes could confirm the letters they were reading, was a sign that said:
I miss Portland so much, mostly the food, some of the people, but really the beautiful nature spots. I miss hiking and hills and bodies of water that flow through the hills. I miss feeling like I’m far away from the things that used to drive my life, like Subway stations and people hitting my tighs with their briefcases as they scurried to their 9am work spots. I felt, for 30 days, like I ran away from my life. Nothing feels better than doing that every once in a while.
But now I’m back in NYC, living in an area I’ve never lived before, getting hit with a sign from perhaps the universe, or just a very old building, reminding me of Portland.
I’ve always thought that traveling made everything start to feel strange to you because the more you see, the more you start to see it again everywhere, or so your mind tricks you into thinking.
But here’s proof that Portland is following me. Do you believe in signs? If I did, then I’d ditch the 30 day stay in Brooklyn and board a plane backward. But maybe that’s not the sign the universe meant to give me. Maybe it’s just not.
