We were high school sweethearts, Portland, Oregon and I. My first boyfriend lived on the Columbia River Gorge Scenic Highway, so I would visit him once a year or so. The gorge was where I came alive, carting a bag with journals and sketchbooks and fantasy novels to the hiking paths by the abundant waterfalls and staying there all day, imagining, dreaming, and coming to understand my personal beliefs and spirituality.
But like many high school sweethearts, we drifted apart. The last time I visited Portland was thirteen years ago. However, when I had a year of major upheaval this last year, one devastating situation and loss after another, a little voice in my head told me to come back...go back to Portland.
The plan was to find out for sure if my sentimental feelings about Oregon and Portland were made golden-toned by memory and bias, or if I still loved it. The goal was to "get it out of my system."
I failed miserably.
