Portland, Oregon, the most beautiful city in the world. I couldn’t be more grateful and lucky to be born and raised in such a culturally rich, economically abundant and environmentally lush region on this planet. The odds are outstanding, and I acknowledge this every day when I open my eyes. I can’t sleep in anymore, as the awareness of how privileged I am works as a set clock within. There are so many people, places and opportunities to be seized, and yet this soul of mine has only this lifetime to figure out which people warrant my time and affection, which places to let become a part of me, and which opportunities are worth the leaps of faith.

I grew up right in the southeastern suburbs of the city, where you’ll see lots of apartments and houses of different classes lined up on the same block. I went to public schools in the same district from elementary all the way through high school, was lucky enough to live in one home, have the same peers throughout my upbringing and apply for college when I graduated high school. I was an honor roll student who cared deeply about grades and doing well at everything I did. I played rugby throughout my high school years and was voted Best Smile my senior year. I applied to only one school, Portland State University. I got in, moved out of my mother’s house and into the dorms and had the all-American (and very Portlandia) college experience: drugs, alcohol, skipping class, concerts, drunken waits in line at three in the morning at Voodoo donuts, an over-drafted bank account, part-time job at a late-night sandwich shop, frequent change of majors and interests, constant fear and pressure over whether or not all the debt and time invested was worth the education when I was too clueless to know what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Oh, my generation will never forget the times. But we are focusing on the good stuff, and even though that all sounded contradictory, it was good. It was still good. Even then, I had clean water to drink, unlimited choices for dinner with hardly any money, more time to think than is probably healthy and men constantly vying for my attention. I bet you’re wondering why my blog claims to be about overcoming depression, anxiety and the sense of aimlessness, aren’t you? This is the American paradox, a look from the outside in. Now that we’ve looked at the outside, let me invite you in…

Until next time…