Our impending move to Portland is fraught with anxiety and uncertainty. The decision to "go west, young man," was indubitably sound in the midst of a Minnesota winter, but now that we're in the balmy throes of spring with summer 'round the corner, the logic begins to look suspect. Does it make sense to leave friends and family behind, some of whom we may not see again? Certainly, career-wise and financially the move doesn't make sense. We've got a pretty nice thing going, socially, in the Twin Cities. Those bridges aren't burned, but they currently smolder. Pardon my mixed-metaphor, but the siren-song of the greener grass over yonder fence beckoned…and thus we go, for good or for ill.
Ours is a household where practicality and logic reign (or so we like to think). And yet this decision, based strongly on emotion and hope, is contrary to our natural inclination. As much as this might be a warning sign of a regrettable decision, I think this may be cathartic, in a way. Life is short and, I suspect, the list of regrets may be long by the time the wife cashes my first life insurance check. I hope that on the tally of my life, the box titled, "made stupid/ill-conceived, emotionally-driven, financially-ruinous yet ultimately fulfilling decision," is not unchecked at the end of the day.
These thoughts are a bit contemplative and sobering on a Friday morning. We'll see how they play out on a Friday evening with a few belts under my…er…belt. And at the end of the day, and at the western edge of our nation, I'm sure Portland will provide as many catalysts and causes for beer musings as the Twin Cities have. And while the observations may focus more on my fleas, the homeless, the crazy hippies and those d-bags from California, I'm sure the irreverent tone and sophomoric content will remain the same.
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