It’s not so different really. People still go to work every morning and cars still get backed up on the bridges. The river rushes past, ceaselessly pushing, coursing. The boats still effortlessly float along, weightless hunks of metal. Besides the number of buildings, nothing is really physically different; it’s the character of the place that changed. Moving from a small coastal town to the larger metropolitan area up the river was a big change for me at first, or so I thought. Suddenly in my life was the constant roar of cars, rather than the constant bark of the sea lions. The friendly smile of the mom and pop store down the street, to the cookie cutter granite of the chain store. Where I used to be in tune with the rhythm of the city, rising and falling with her, I now found my self falling behind unable to keep up with the constant pacing.
But soon I found myself adjusting, I no longer spent my time longing for home, and my pace had changed to keep up with that of the city. After long days and longer nights, I began to realize that maybe Astoria and Portland weren’t so different after all.The mom and pop stores were still just down the street, there were just more families. Cars went from a blaring foreground thrum, to a white whisper lulling me to sleep.The city still breathed in rhythm, it just had more energy, and I could draw from that. People, while hustling and bustling still took time to stop and look at a nice sunset, or enjoy the rare sunny day in the park. They all laugh and love, and they have reached a hand out for me to join them. Everything is just at a faster pace, and I’m learning to keep up.