It has been nearly six months since I moved to Portland, Oregon. Naturally, reality has been different from the many ideas I had about how life might be and the ways I would spend my time. Specifically, as a man without a day job, I hoped to use my many hours of free time to make the most of the opportunity to write, (amongst other things), an activity that I always say I want to do more of but when I have the time, I mostly don’t. I’m not sure why exactly. There are times when I have written, if not prolifically, then at least consistently over a period. Nor have I lacked a muse. This corner of the Pacific North-west has stimulated my thinking and I have a list of topics to explore. However, I simply haven’t done it. Nor have I disciplined myself to even try.
Maybe the adjustment to living in America has demanded other things of me and my time. As someone who has spent many years in various different countries, I know that culture shock is real and while the USA speaks English, has familiar cultural markers and doesn’t feel particularly foreign, this country up close and personal is strange to me. Perhaps it is even more bizarre than more extreme examples of the countries from which I have visited over the past fifteen years of travel and work, such as Afghanistan and Japan. I think one of the key challenges is that I thought I knew America (not least through TV, previous visits and friends from here, including my current girlfriend), but the truth is that this familiarity is deceptive and more than ever, the disconnect between the United States I imagined and the place I live is vast. And this gap is exacerbated by the appearance of the recognisable. So, as I finally approach these Portland Paradigms, it is with the perspective of an outsider. I might seem to be local were it not for the Kiwi accent and un-American things I do and say, everything from being misunderstood when talking about the everyday to my utter disbelief at deadly serious debates over guns and the mass shootings which occur not daily in this place often referred to as ‘the land of the free and home of the brave’.
Now that I’m finally putting fingers to keyboard, I’m interested in exploring aspects of America via a Portland lens, including just how free this place is and how much bravery is required to live here. This series of essays will pursue a number of alliterative titles including ‘Portland Pot’ about legal marijuana in the city of roses, ‘Portland Parochial’ about politics, white and liberal, and ‘Portland Pubs’ all about beers in the world’s craft beer capital. I come to this with many prejudices, some of which are unhelpful and wrong, others which I like and/or are good, but none of which should go unchallenged as I wrestle with the culture here. As I walk down the street with my Red Wing boots, denim-on-denim with Filson jacket and trucker cap on, I look the part. But I am more than that. Neither are appearances in this urban milieu best characterised by it’s various stereotypes.
