is this a pickle?

June 30, 2010

A couple nights ago,  during dusk, I was riding home from the other side of town and I passed through my old neighborhood. My favorite neighborhood. Kerns. It’s always such a bittersweet thing to re-visit the this little Northeastern enclave and even more so on a summer night, it being both my favorite season and my favorite time of the year and time of the day to be riding my bike around Portland. I really, really love Kerns. Sometimes I think if we moved to that neighborhood, I’d stop bitching so much about living in Portland.

It made me think about how easy it is for me to fall in love with a place, like Kerns, or this stretch of road near lake Lemon, or my grandmother’s basement. Not easy in the sense that I’m in love with a lot of places. But easy in the sense of not holding back my heart. To be unabashed. To wax on and on and on about it, which has not been my approach with people. Humans are so much trickier to dive into, but you kind of have to dive in if you’re really wanting to be in something with someone. I wonder if my friend Val would call this “being a pickle.”

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