Simple moves

In which everything is what it is.

So, a good 64 hours after leaving the apartment in Natal, I arrived at home in Portland. It's not as much of a culture shock as I'm used to. I seem to be running on autopilot. There were no big feelings about leaving Brazil, no contemplations or nostalgia. I have spent so much of my adult life on the move that goodbye feels routine.

I arrived to a perfect Portland. The weather was better than Brazil--cool at night, dry, less sweaty. Oddly, the perfect morning made me a bit sad, probably because of all I've missed out on here. That’s as much as I'm willing to contemplate.

Giovanna and Catharina arrive on Thursday. The house isn't ready. I'm trying to figure out a million little chores, the most daunting ones involving cleaning. The logistical debt of months abroad has compounded. The dead laptop hasn't helped. (Apple says it's kaput.) Yet there’s progress. I've unpacked. I’ve bought groceries. I've sourced sword skewers and Brazilian cuts of meat for a BBQ next weekend. (If you're reading this and you're in Portland, you're invited.)

The house was both comfortable and stressful. It's odd, returning to my room that is fully mine, a room lined with my books, immersed in my history and habits, then contemplating how to share it. I have to fit in a whole other human and make it ours. It will probably require throwing out a lot of t-shirts.

That's all from here. Or at least, all that is complete.