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Dear Friend of Dorothy, 

How do I know when, or in what ways, I need to change my life?

Yours, 

x

—---------

Dear x,

I lived in the same city until I was 18. I was never dissatisfied with the space I inhabited. 

I believed Oregon was full of magic, and Portland was the homing beacon. I always knew that I loved the PNW, and I never dreamed of escape; more so, I dreamed of an expansion. When I was young, I would daydream about different versions of myself in different colleges on the East Coast. I have always enjoyed the idea of a salmon-style migration–one that explores with the intent to always return. 

The week before I fulfilled my dream of moving from one coast to the other, I packed three suitcases and told my mom to throw out the rest. I didn’t think I needed much of anything. I brought all the paper cutouts that had been adorning each bedroom I’d inhabited under the roofs we’d shared. I brought the already broken 8-inch mirror, and I brought all of my nostalgic decorations. 

The night before my flight, my best friend and my teenage boyfriend slept in my room with me. They drove my mother, my brother, and me to the airport and sent us off with many tears. It was my first time leaving Portland without a return ticket. There was a deep finality to the space I put between us. My boyfriend and I agreed to break up that day, and held to it. My best friend remained close, but my presence was no longer in her room every weekend. 

I remember feeling a great sense of doom. A large chunk of “what have I done?” Between the departure and my orientation. It hurt. I missed everything as much as I thought I would, even as the years passed. Still to this day, every flight I take that lands in Portland brings a wave of relief, and every flight that departs it brings that same feeling of rupture. 

Now, it’s been 7 or so years since I’ve lived in Oregon. It has been enough time that I now find myself repeating the same action of moving to a new area of the country for a college experience. I am moving from New York to the Midwest for an MFA in creative writing. Every step of the process is both reminiscent of youth, while insisting upon the recognition of my adulthood. I am not leaving the place I grew up; instead, I’m leaving the city that I only know through the lens of renting apartments and many roommates. I’m not leaving my teenage boyfriend with a preset agreement to break up; I’m moving away from my partner, with whom I share a life. I now know enough about friendship to know that distance is no match for the true love of a near and dear friend. I have an apartment, a car, and a fellowship set up for me that is in no way attached to the University–and there’s definitely no dorm furniture awaiting me. 

For the first time in my life, Portland is not a direct factor in this life-changing move. I am not arriving nor departing from my hometown.  If anything, I’m moving mildly closer to the place I always saw myself landing back in. However, with every move I make, and every life I build–I see different versions of a future with no direct path to follow. I am leaving people I love, no matter where I go, and I could see that as devastation, or I could see it as a gift. Home can be everywhere, and it can last the storm of change. Movement is devastating, as well as inevitable, as well as positive, as well as a gift. Whether or not I got into this particular school, or any school at all, there would have always been a time when change felt so out of my control, even if it’s something I walked myself toward–and I’m more than grateful it was in this way. 

As an elementary schooler in the Pacific Northwest, I spent many years studying the salmon lifecycle. Tracking a salmon run, understanding their internal compass, their inherent path out towards the Pacific Ocean, right back to the stream they hatched within. They spawn and die nearly simultaneously–right in the space they were born. They expand and contract. They adventure and return. For all the change a single salmon experiences in its lifetime, generationally, there is a set repetition that is sensitive to change in ways that can be detrimental. Dams are set in place with fish ladders specifically for salmon to pass by. If the fish ladder weren’t there, they would continue to swim into the dam over and over, unable to process a life without a return to their birthplace. 

I am not a salmon, but I am a person who has similar values. I left home with the idea to return to it–if not to live long term, then at least to be there when or if I give birth, and when I inevitably die. There is a function of my brain that is unable to fully grasp the idea of beginning or ending life outside of the place where my mom gave birth to me, or where I watched my brother be born, or where I sat next to my grandfather as he passed. 

My grandfather is the only relative I grew up around who was not born in the Pacific Northwest. He, like me, had spent his early 20’s galavanting far from home, and though he had attempted to return to New Zealand many times, it never happened for more than a vacation. He separated from his body over 7,000 miles away from his birthplace. He had lived in Oregon for more than 40 years. This time was primarily spent living in the house that my grandmother, and subsequently my mother, grew up in. He did his best to make Oregon fit, but his home was Wainuiomata, New Zealand. He lived his life in Oregon as an ode to the southern hemisphere. He coached rugby for decades, and he spent Christmas cutting down a tree, knee-deep in the snow, wearing swim trunks. He lived life with the hope of returning, but instead followed my grandmother’s desire to stay put. During his final breaths, I sat with my grandmother at his bedside in their living room and held his hand, as well as hers. She told me the story of how they met. An Oregon girl and a Kiwi boy on a ferry in Vancouver, BC. him traveling with his rugby team at the peak of their popularity, and her on an adventure with a friend. I knew they had tried to begin a life in Wainui at the beginning of their relationship, that their marriage license was from NZ originally, but after the tragic loss of their first child, they moved away from NZ and back to Oregon. The grief was too much for my grandmother to handle away from home, and though I could imagine the grief he held during that time, he followed her. I was never let into his internal monologue, I never knew the extent of his longing to return–but you could feel it in the room when you sat near him. There were many times throughout my childhood when he spoke of moving back, after I had graduated, when he retired, when they sold the house–but it never happened. My grief when he passed was both for his departure from my life, as well as the fact that it seemed to come too early for him. He left the planet so far away from where he arrived; As a small boy with large ears, born to a mom with a blonde beehive, joining his caretaking older brother in their small town. 

His brother called from Australia moments after he passed, unable to make it across the world in time. He spoke on the phone with my mother, his accent leaking out of the receiver. As they spoke, I looked towards my brother Ursa, who looked back at me and said he’s just left, in reference to our grandfather’s presence. As Ursa said this, my great uncle relayed to my mother that he had suddenly felt my grandfather appear beside him in Australia–possibly passing by on the way to his return home.

I will never know the extent to which my grandfather wished to return to NZ. I do not know if he was as much of a salmon as me, or if he found peace and happiness staying close to his created family, rather than the place he was born.Everything is conflicting, and I’m sure it was a bit of both always. There was so much change in his life. I don’t know what happens after death, but I believe that energy does not disappear. My brother sees him in the hummingbird outside of my mother’s house, and without speaking of this, my grandmother started painting hummingbirds over and over again after he died. My mother and I are about to drive his car 12 hours from NYC to my MFA program at a Catholic university. 

(He would’ve loved me at a Catholic school, and I can’t help but believe he had some part in that). The world is mysterious, and there is so much we do not know. Within his lifetime, he inspired me to both know how to stay and work up the courage to go. It’s a remarkable thing to be loved by someone like that for 25 years.

There are many curves to a person’s life before they die. We are out of control as individuals in more ways than we feel comfortable. Amidst the imposed and unjust bureaucracy of our current society, we seem to constantly be fighting for our chance to have autonomy over our bodies, our homes, our money, and our lives. That is a movement of change that requires fight, persistence, and grip and grit.

However, against the movement of time and the universe, we seem to latch onto whatever peace and joy we can find with a white-knuckled grip–when really the most productive thing to do is to release yourself into the unknown until a landing place with more to offer than a single handhold becomes clear. There are many changes that come unplanned and turn out to be the biggest defining moments in the rest of our time on the planet. Some are outrageously good, and some are outrageously bad–and everything affects each person differently. We are complex creatures who desire love, success, stability, adventure, and happiness. We search for satisfaction and growth faster than the universe can provide. As individuals, we make choices at lightspeed and fall into situations that take years to come back from. Or, on the other hand, fall into situations that propel us into our futures faster than we’d imagined. Unfortunately, there is no answer I have that is clear. There is no way to know when, how, or in what ways to change your life. My only advice is to keep moving towards the daydreams that fuel you. It’s important to be truly optimistic in your imagination and do what you can to move towards that place. Know that there are many ways a person’s life can look. Remember, it is never shameful and always necessary to ask for help. It is important to rely on the community, to take accountability and apologize when needed, and to give back to the people and places that have supported you in the ways you can. It is never shameful to move towards a desire that is not hurtful to yourself or others. 

And, if you find yourself moving toward a goal you can’t imagine being happy with–maybe it’s time to let go of your grip on what should be and instead focus on what is, and what you truly want. 

There is no right way to change your life. There is no set path or practice or ten-question quiz; the only thing we can do is arrive with our full self, our vulnerability, and our courage when change, risk, and growth come hand in hand. If you feel stuck, work towards a goal outside of yourself for a while.

Notice where your homing beacon is pulling you, and honor it–but know it may be counterproductive to go straight home. Don’t forget that it is always a cycle, and never a linear path. We become our truest selves by stepping out of our comfort zones with curious minds, open hearts, and intent to connect with those around us. Living is about change, growth, time, and love. 

A salmon cannot survive without the nutrients it gets from the open ocean. 

Move towards what is feeding you, and release what is negating your growth. 

Yours, 

A Friend of Dorothy