Observations on my first day in Portland:

• Everytime I leave my b&b I see another guy who looks exactly like my roommate JOpp. I’m starting to think he has a cloning factory out here… Or maybe I just live with a clone of some Portland man…
• Portland seems to be a city filled with young hipsters. I’ve now traveled to the NE, NW and SE sectors of the city. All are teeming with people I would easily identify in my peer group: young, stylish in a funky, artsy kind of way, not in a polished metro style, art school mixed with punk.

The propreitess of my b&b said, “Oh, everyone in Oregon is a vegetarian or close to it.” There’s a plethora of vegetarian and vegan eateries here, including a selection of raw food vegan places, now that’s punk rock.

My mentor has encouraged me to write about the certainty of the decision to quit, the knowledge that I’ve really looked within myself, really listened and that I can feel the right path with my whole body. He says these are the feelings to record, to be reminded of in the future, to hold on to as life rolls on. He believes this ability to listen inside is a key to happiness.

Now that I no longer have to hold back the secrets of my future plans, I hope to allow the words to flow more freely onto these pages.

Finally I can write about what has been occupying my time and constant thoughts for months. Finally it is public.

After working for the same office for 8 years, I have decided to quit my job. It has been a difficult decision. I’ve grown so attached to the work, to the identity of myself being linked to this place, to this employment. Now I’m setting myself free.

My body has been telling me I need to end this relationship with “the office” as jar always used to call it. My battle with the green-goo this past winter, followed by a bought of the worst headaches I could ever imagine, followed most recently by a string of strange digestive problems were all signs my mind tried to ignore. My body has always excelled at metaphor, expressing what I barely know in physical form.

About a month ago I acknowledged my body, “Yes” I said, “Yes, I finally know it is time to quit.” The immediate sense of lightness, of certainty, amazed my mind, even as my body started to release. But still, I had to keep it secret. A huge secret, looming on top of everyday, while I met with advisors, made sure my finances, files and insurance were in order. It was coming, but it wasn’t yet real.

On Monday I announced my intent to leave. My last day will be July 5. The reaction ranged from stunned to understanding. The words said and the e-mails sent to me were positive and sad. “You will be missed.” “You’ve done an amazing job and will be hard to replace.” “You’ve done so much for us.” Washing over me with good feelings, reassuring me that this is the time to leave.

I have three weeks left. This week I’m traveling to Portland, composing this entry on a plane over wrinkled and snowcapped western land. This week I will participate in my last conference for this job. A conference for people who have similar positions to the one I’ve held for so long.

I’m excited to meet my fellow peers from around the country and world, even as I start to consider whether they will even be my peers in the future.

In the airport today, standing in shorts, my sailing legs bruised, I wondered if anyone recognized the tell tale markings. Were there other sailors about?

Even in Texas, at an event far removed from sailing, I met a fellow sailor, recognizing quickly that certain something about him, an exactness and a flair for speed.

The van packed full.
Sun rise on the highway.
Eighteen hours rolling south with no AC.
Austin!
Austin!
The hotel clerk, “I hear Madison is the Austin of Wisconsin.”
Hot, humid, plant growing weather.
Low Austin houses, overgrown and damp.
LBJ, a Texan President so different from what we have now.
NYC Dave, my brother.
Hotel pools and southern cooking.
Mount Bonnel with 30 cheerleaders.
“I want to marry a Jesus man.”
SB’s tonsils rebel, grow enormous, sprout fever.
Small Burning Man Conference
Tent city and nakedness.
Music painful assulting loudness.
River swimming.
Texas size thunderstorms.
Hot.
Driving, driving, driving.
Little Rock friendliness beyond measure.
Clinton’s space ship landing.
36 hour breakdown.
Little Rock.
Driving better than ever.
Lnet’s new home.
Driving.
Cool, cool Madison.