As you read this, I’m moving — and probably literally. Last Sunday I left Portland on a bike tour. It will take me northwest to Ontario and perhaps farther. I may head to Vancouver if I’m ambitious, or stick to the rest of New England if my knees act up. But as of now the trip is in motion.
I never particularly liked to move, but this time went smoothly. Full-time employment let me save for the trip months ago. When last week arrived and it came time to pack up, everything was stowed in a few days. I paid my bills, closed up accounts, and visited some truly good friends. Then it was time to leave.
Many have felt it’s been time to leave recently. One friend, a recent graduate, moved first to New York and, from there, Barcelona. Two others are moving to Tokyo. Within the continent, the west remains popular. A group of folks are migrating to Tucson, and almost everyone knows someone who has left for “the other Portland.”
Back in this Portland, there are many good reasons for leaving. Rent is rising and downtown is becoming gentrified. The city’s image depends on the young and creative, but its reality is catering to kitschy economic success. There’s no industry to speak of and the job market is declining. For someone in their twenties, and presumably independent, there is not much encouragement to remain.
There is a psychological equivalent to these practical problems: Portland is constantly split, and runs on tension. The peninsula is large enough to function like a city and small enough to feel like a town. Its local, self-supporting economy must coexist with the profit-making tourist economy. The streets are filled, as one old redneck put it, with “mental patients and art students” (which may not be a dichotomy at all). Drinking is strictly 21-plus, but it’s one of the only things to do around here.
For native Mainers, Portland is The City, only one step from the nightmare of Boston. For those from away, it’s a smaller, easier version of a metropolis. Here is bohemia lite, delivered on a platter to jaded outsiders or tantalizingly concentrated to small-town kids. This is a dangerous position: both groups outgrow the offering quickly and easily. Some settle for what it is. Many others add this disillusion to their practical problems and leave.
Yet many, in the teeth of all this, come back. It may take a month or a few years. But many people take an almost classic journey away from this home in order to appreciate it. They come back focused, with an appropriate lack of bullshit, having made a choice to be here.
They also continue to travel a lot. Many friends have made Portland a home base, workin’ and livin’ in order to make art or music, which they then spread elsewhere. The aforementioned tension becomes a sort of security, a dependable environment that you can deal with, large enough to feel alive yet small enough to handle.
I don’t know if I’ll be following that model or not. Just preparing to leave has made me appreciate this town far more than workaday drudgery did. I’ll certainly return to touch base, but whether it is home is uncertain. Right now I’m still pedaling.
Clayton Cameron can still be reached at winds.up@gmail.com.
