peace out, Portland

I can't sleep.

I have to get up for work at 5am and I've usually been asleep for 2 hours by now, but alas, this evening I find myself lying in bed, wide awake, 2 hours past my usual 9pm bedtime.

I know, I live an exciting life. I was reminded of how exciting it is when I went to update my profile and change my age from 26 to 27. "Am I really changing this again?," I thought to myself. Followed by, "do I really usually go to bed at 9pm?"

I'm sure it's the endless sea of thoughts sloshing about in my head, or the coffee I had way too late in the afternoon (geez, I do sound lame), but either way I'm feeling quite rebellious staying up "so late" to write. While I admit, I can't do this every night thanks to my lovely work schedule, it is a nice change of pace to do something out of the ordinary... something that reminds me of a time in life when I was really happy. Something as simple as staying up late, listening to good music and recording my thoughts... sometimes for myself, and sometimes to share with others.

It's been hard to share how I feel since being in Portland, mainly because I'm not really sure how I feel. If I could only use one word to describe it would be, without a doubt, "confused."
Without a doubt, I am confused! At least I'm not confused about that.

There's so much going on and so much happening so fast that I don't really know how to begin processing it all. Within a week of being here I have started a new job, started school to study graphic design, something I have no background or even an inkling of understanding in, and have stayed two different places without a permanent place to call home yet. On top of which, I have been completely stripped of my support system, by choice (no one forced me to move here), and have rediscovered my good old friend, the three hour nap, which is especially nice on days when it rains. And guess how often it rains in Portland?

Now don't get me wrong, yes, I am overwhelmed and confused, and am having a harder time (emotionally) than I ever thought I would, BUT, that said, for whatever reason, unbeknownst to me, I have peace about being here. It sounds crazy, I know. And I don't get it either. But that's just the kind of God I serve.

Something is going on, and I'm not quite sure what it is, but I have never felt so stretched before in all my life. I've been through a lot, some of which I didn't think I would make it out of, but my time here, though still very new, is so different than anything I have been through before. It's different than just moving to a new town. It's so much more difficult. I've moved before, I know what it's like to start over again somewhere new, meet new people, acclimate to a new community, but this is more than any of that. For not having any clarity about what is going on or why I am here, I am completely aware that something much bigger than myself is going on. Something much bigger than myself is always going on, that I know, but lets just say I easily get caught up in my own self-centeredness that I'm not always aware of things much greater than little ol' me, which is a shame because those things are, well, much greater.

I'm confused about school. I don't know if I like what I'm learning, but I don't know if that's simply because it's not what I thought it would be or if I don't like it because I'm frustrated that I don't understand it. Since I am learning all of these computer programs from scratch I keep thinking I'm doing horribly, but then I get my work back and I'm actually doing much better than average. That's confusing!

Last week I had a project due using illustrator, a computer software that if you don't know what it is please ask somebody to explain it because I get a headache just thinking about it (which isn't good because it's one of the most commonly used graphic design tools). I worked so long and so hard on this project, meeting with a tutor each week just to figure out the program before I could even start the assignment. By the time I was at least "not completely uncomfortable with it" (the exact words I used), the project was due within a few short days. I completed it, which is good, but I was so unhappy with how it turned out. I hated it. I thought it was "ugly" and I didn't feel like it was anything I would ever want to put my name on. None the less, I reluctantly turned it in.

We got our projects back last night. Before the professor handed them out he said he selected a few of the grade A projects to be displayed in the hall. He held up one project specifically and asked whose it was and my heart dropped... it was mine. He said it was excellent and the only issue with hanging it in the hall would be that I needed to trim the edges of my illustration board just a fraction of an inch smaller. I was in complete shock. He handed me a paper with my grade on it and it read "EXCELLENT, 98.5%." I sincerely couldn't believe it. I immediately thought this professor was not qualified to do his job. I almost wanted to protest and point out what I thought was wrong with it but then I heard myself say "shut up, dummy!." At right about this point is where one might think I'm schizophrenic because I quickly retorted, to myself, "please, I got a 98.5, boiiiii, whose the dummy now?"

I started to wonder why I so quickly assumed that I had done poorly and my professor was unqualified to grade my project instead of believing I had actually done a good job and was given an excellent score by an extremely talented professor. Why is it so hard for me to believe the latter? Why is it so hard for me to, excuse my cheesiness, believe in myself? I started to accept the fact that I had actually done a good job (I'm still working on believing that it was excellent), but it only led me to more confusion about being in school. If I don't like what I am doing but am doing it well, is that reason to continue? If I'm going to be in debt for the next 20 years of my life, possibly more given the expense of the Art Institute, is it really worth it?

I don't know. I don't have an answer. I'm supposed to register for next semester's classes this week and I don't know if I'm going to. If I don't go back to school, what am I doing in Portland? Isn't that why I came here? The logical answer would be to go back to Chicago, right? Then why do I not feel at peace about that option? And who knows, maybe I'm looking too far into this "being at peace" thing. The 60's are over and maybe I need to get over it too, but this peace, this peace that I have, it passes all understanding of the reasons I have to leave Portland. This peace that I have is one without clarity and as much as I want the clarity more than the peace, the peace is what I have been given, for now. There is only one type of peace that I know of that passes all understanding and it is a peace not of this world.

It is the peace of the God I serve.

When someone asks, how do I explain myself about how I feel since leaving Chicago? Well, I'm learning that I don't have to explain myself to anyone, at least not in this situation. But, if I choose to explain myself, I'd tell the truth...

I feel sad, and confused, and terribly alone, but very much at peace with right where God has got me.