In late February of 2011, I committed myself to an ideal. In less than four months time, I would living in Portland, OR.Things were happening in my life that was forcing me to sit back and recognize them as signs...silent and subtle messages that were telling me I was ready to move on. In late November, there were some executive changes made at my office that heavily forced me to sit back and reevaluate my relevance there. Until that point, it had been a fairly symbiotic relationship; I was saving them money by producing everything in-house and they were helping me pay my mortgage. However, for quite some time leading up to this moment, I had wanted more. I was well-aware that it was just a job and not a career path for me. There would be no more upward movement, and with a key advocate for my position's security now let go from the company, a decision for my professional career had to be made.
There were other reasons as well. Near obsessive thoughts about simplifying my life were distracting me from everyday routines. A recent fallout with some close friends had become devastatingly tolling. My home had continued to sit on the market, untouched, after two years. ...I loved my house, but I no longer wanted its burden. There were too many memories there that I had to face each day and the thought of reducing my living space to a small apartment felt like bliss. Following a random conversation during the morning commute to work, I was approached by my buddy Mark about possibly renting it out for he and his family. They had just had their second baby and the apartment they were living in suddenly became too small. Within days we worked out a deal and before I knew it, they agreed to move into my home in May. I had three short months to prepare.
At first, I only told about six people, including my parents. Obviously Mark knew. I filled my work-partner Sarah in on my plans, as my leaving the company would directly impact her everyday routine. And then I told my good friends Dawson and Garrett, who were incredibly supportive and encouraging over my decision to finally pick up and follow my dream. The wheels were in motion. Now I just needed to find a place to live.
I arrived in Portland on April 1st. As my plane landed just after midnight, I had made the decision to actually bunk down in the airport terminal for that first night, as it almost seemed like a waste of time and money to head into Portland at that late of an hour. On the suggestion of a website that listed "the best airports to sleep in" (PDX was ranked in the top 5), I found a quiet little corner in the north end of the terminal and, doing my best to ignore the repetitive safety announcements, fell into a sound sleep.
Still on east coast time, I awoke around 4:30 am and killed the next three hours by reading, preparing a game plan for the day and grabbing a quick breakfast. I then jumped on the MAX train and traveled into the NW quadrant of the city, where I would be staying for the next few nights. I couldn't check in until after 11am, so I took refuge in a quiet little coffee shop on NW21st Ave & Irving and started making calls. Within an hour, I had reserved three afternoon appointments for apartment rentals.
After walking around a bit and familiarizing myself again with the NW23rd area of Portland (also called Nob Hill and The Alphabet District), I made my way over to NW18th and Glisan where I would be staying at the local hostel for the next three nights. The idea to do so came from my buddy Garrett who stayed in hostels all around the country during a road trip he had taken about two years before. It was a huge money saver and as the weekend would prove, a great way to meet new people traveling through town.
Upon checking in, my host led me into a cluster of bunking rooms on the lower floor. My space was not yet ready, but they gave me a locker and a quick tour of the place so I knew where everything was during my stay. This being my first experience with an American hostel, I have to say I was incredibly impressed. I'm thoroughly aware that not every hostel in our country is this well-looked after, but the co-habitative system it relies on felt somewhat...refreshing. Aside from the fact that it was located within the magnificence of a turn-of-the-century Victorian home, there was a full kitchen, with each resident having a dedicated shelf space for food, would they decide to cook in-house. All bathrooms were shared and there were about six different common spaces to read, browse the internet, or just socialize with the other residents. Right from the start, it was a fantastic experience.
Throughout the next four days, I found myself wandering Portland from the moment I woke up until the sun began to set, searching meticulously for where I would end up living when I arrived into town. As most apartments operate on the refusal to "rent sight-unseen" policy, I had a mere three days to nail down a place. The next time i would be back in Portland would be when I was actually moving in, so treating this like a vacation wasn't an option. On top of that, because of my limited timeline, I made an agreement with myself that I couldn't be picky. Whichever place I choose, I would make it work. I always had.
Most of the apartments I looked at in the beginning were large studios. This seemed to be most of what was available where I was searching and I remember there were two in particular that really stood out as apartments that I could see myself living in, regardless of the lack of walls. In between my appointments, I took in as much of the area as I could, slightly reminiscing over the quiet moments I had spent in Portland just three years before. On the suggestion of a late friend, I had arrived in the Northwest with my then-girlfriend to scope out the area as a potential spot to settle down in. Almost as an afterthought, we were advised to visit Portland as opposed to Vancouver (we were mainly staying in Seattle for the duration of the trip) because it seemed to be more my style. He was right. From the moment we arrived, I fell for the city's charm and idealistic lifestyle. Portland has its problems, that's for certain, but everyone here seemed happy and alive. Suddenly, I couldn't see myself anywhere else. The idea of returning hadn't left my mind since.
Saturday night, I took a break from my search to hang out around town with a few guys from the hostel. Money in hand, my temporary roommates Brenden, Ken from Korea and I headed out and explored the bar options, finally settling on a sports bar on the corner of NW21st and Glisan. (I have since walked by this place upmpteen thousand times and I still don't know the name of it). There we ran into Mark from Australia, one of other weekend bunkmates, who was currently in the midst of a conversation with one of the worst girls I had met in my life. The one he was focusing his attention on was nice, but her friend...wow. It got to the point where I could no longer be his wingman, and even as this was a direct violation of the wingman code, he actually gave me credit for sticking around as long as I did. That poor man.
Later that night after we had all returned to the hostel, I decided to read a few chapters out of my book before I went off to bed and proceeded to fall asleep, alone, on the couch in the lower common room. I was awoken about an hour later to find three girls and a guy (all of whom I had never seen before) sitting at the table playing cards. They must've read the apparent confusion on my face and decided to remedy the situation by inviting me to a party. So off we went, piled into their friend's car and off to some apartment in the hills. Although I never saw those girls again, we all ended up having a great time. It was all completely innocent, but just the random jolt that I needed to keep me motivated in my search throughout my last day in town. I got back to the hostel at 4am and fell asleep immediately.
As time was closing in on me and I wasn't yet able to procure an apartment, I began to panic, just slightly. Following a late breakfast with Mark in the attempt to reduce our pounding hangovers, I hit the pavement again with the determination to sign a lease by 4:00pm, no matter what. With blue azure skies above me, nearly the first I had seen since my arrival into town, I took this as a sign of a good omen and once again, started to call all of the numbers on my list. It was Monday morning and most of the rental agencies would be open now, as opposed to their limited hours of operation over the weekend, especially Sunday. Shortly thereafter, on the advice of a random girl on the street, I decided to stop into a rental agency around the corner called Bristol Equities. There, they directed me to an historic and charming building called the Villa Jené, where I would meet Burton, the building manager. As it turns out, they had one unit available and was perfectly within my price range. Unfortunately, because they couldn't get ahold of the tenant, I wasn't allowed into the apartment. Burton however, who was one of the nicest building managers I had met in my search thus far, promised to email me pictures and a floor plan layout of the available unit. It was practically a no-brainer. At 3:30pm, I headed back and handed him a retainer check. The apartment was mine, and I hadn't even seen it yet. My move-in date was set for 5-10-11. I had a little less than a month to prepare.
I spent my last few hours in Portland relaxing and enjoying those stress-free moments by hiking up to the International Rose Garden, grabbing a bite to eat at a local pub and exploring a few hidden corners of the Nob Hill neighborhood that I hadn't seen before. Just after dark, I boarded the train back to the airport, where I would catch the red-eye flight back to Cleveland. While in the air, I crafted my resignation letter that I would deliver to HR upon my return the next morning. Upon touching down in Cleveland at 8am, I jumped on the train into downtown's Tower City Center, walked into my office, changed into my professional attire and made an appointment to meet with Human Resources regarding my resignation. Life was about to start over and a new beginning was about to occur. I was making a drastic life change that some would label as stupid, brave, irrational and courageous. For the first time in nearly three years, I felt alive.
As time was closing in on me and I wasn't yet able to procure an apartment, I began to panic, just slightly. Following a late breakfast with Mark in the attempt to reduce our pounding hangovers, I hit the pavement again with the determination to sign a lease by 4:00pm, no matter what. With blue azure skies above me, nearly the first I had seen since my arrival into town, I took this as a sign of a good omen and once again, started to call all of the numbers on my list. It was Monday morning and most of the rental agencies would be open now, as opposed to their limited hours of operation over the weekend, especially Sunday. Shortly thereafter, on the advice of a random girl on the street, I decided to stop into a rental agency around the corner called Bristol Equities. There, they directed me to an historic and charming building called the Villa Jené, where I would meet Burton, the building manager. As it turns out, they had one unit available and was perfectly within my price range. Unfortunately, because they couldn't get ahold of the tenant, I wasn't allowed into the apartment. Burton however, who was one of the nicest building managers I had met in my search thus far, promised to email me pictures and a floor plan layout of the available unit. It was practically a no-brainer. At 3:30pm, I headed back and handed him a retainer check. The apartment was mine, and I hadn't even seen it yet. My move-in date was set for 5-10-11. I had a little less than a month to prepare.
I spent my last few hours in Portland relaxing and enjoying those stress-free moments by hiking up to the International Rose Garden, grabbing a bite to eat at a local pub and exploring a few hidden corners of the Nob Hill neighborhood that I hadn't seen before. Just after dark, I boarded the train back to the airport, where I would catch the red-eye flight back to Cleveland. While in the air, I crafted my resignation letter that I would deliver to HR upon my return the next morning. Upon touching down in Cleveland at 8am, I jumped on the train into downtown's Tower City Center, walked into my office, changed into my professional attire and made an appointment to meet with Human Resources regarding my resignation. Life was about to start over and a new beginning was about to occur. I was making a drastic life change that some would label as stupid, brave, irrational and courageous. For the first time in nearly three years, I felt alive.
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