We have lived in Portland now for more than half a year. Time has moved both so quickly and so slowly.

For context, moving across the country to Oregon from New York last fall wasn’t a decision we made lightly as a family or for me on a personal level. Leaving New York was the first time in my life that I’ve lived somewhere other than New York City. We left behind our friends, the environment our careers thrived on, and my family. All of this aside, if I had to sum our move up in one sentence it would be — the best decision of my life.

When someone dies, you learn to fill gaps quickly. You learn to put something, anything, in the place of where that person was. It’s like a plug that fills the bathtub up — the water rising is warm and wonderful at first, exactly what you need it to be, but after a while, when you’re sitting there long enough, it gets cold and it overflows and it becomes less of where you want to be.

That’s how I can best describe a good chunk of my life until now. I wanted and tried so badly to keep the tub from overflowing and to believe that I was enjoying the cold water because I’d filled it with my own persistence, but I couldn’t and I wasn’t. I was drowning in an adulthood I stepped into too soon. I was drowning in a career I constantly had to hustle for. I was brought under water time and time again by a city that made me anxious and a role as the “responsible” one that made it impossible to breathe life into who I am when I’m not serving someone else or something bigger than myself.

Our decision to move to Portland happened in between seasons. The days were getting warmer in New York City and by the second our space was slowly losing square footage to breathe. I’ve written about it before, but even though I knew that leaving NYC for a bit was in our future, I didn’t think Portland or 2020 were the when and the where. This move took us by surprise, but it also set me straight.

I knew it the moment we touched down at PDX and I saw all the green. It felt refreshing and revitalizing. On our drive into downtown, the roads were lined with trees that were so much bigger than I will ever be. I visited Columbus, Ohio once and loved it because when I stood amidst pine trees I felt human. I felt the most myself I’d felt up until then. The last few days, it’s been like I’m revisiting that feeling and also like I’m learning to keep it. Where New York makes you strive to be the biggest, shiniest human to ever be encountered, Portland humbles you in understanding that while you’re meant to grow, it’s also true that there will always be a tree that’s bigger than you and that’s okay.

Last week I was sitting on the floor with papers and pictures spread out around me. In my mind I could see the playpen my mom used to park in front of the TV just a few feet away from where I was sitting.

As a toddler, I’d bounce along to Barney. Outside of the playpen, I used the floor as my training ground for crawling and learning to walk.

As a kid, I learned about real estate and the importance of Park Place while playing Monopoly with my cousin and aunt on that floor.

Building piles and pushing memories around on this floor to make room for more has always felt normal and like home. Even though last week didn’t look much different, it was. I was trying to find my birth certificate and social security card because coming home here was no longer going to be an easy, viable option. I couldn’t keep splitting myself between two homes because in a few weeks, my boyfriend, my puppy, and I would be hopping on a plane and moving across the country.