STARTING OVER? HOW MANY TIMES DOES IT TAKE A WRITER

Looking back, I’ve been starting over every day with a fresh, clean, screen and filling it up, just like today.

But, as much as that feels like a new start, it doesn’t have the travel element.

In my twenties starting over meant a road trip from one side of the country to the other.

Have you done this?

After living in Center City Philadelphia for a year and a half as a transplanted Oregonian I had thoughts of staying. I’d be a Philadelphia Writer and join that long tradition.

But I had a good feel for the city, good enough to know it wouldn’t be the last place I’d ever live.

The people I met have stayed with me, from Col. Williams to young Dr. Johnson, Joel Kanefsky to Dottie.

In some ways I never left. I say that because I don’t remember if I took the bus or flew back to Oregon. Since I don’t recall any transportation screw-ups, I must have flown.

Either way, I was starting over in Eugene at the University of Oregon. If I had stayed in Philadelphia I would have been a Temple man. But you never know since I’m not an Oregon Man.

The good news is I do have two Oregon Men in the family now.

Two Years Later I Was Starting Over Again

After ignoring university requirements for a slate of upper division English classes I dropped out and hit the road.

I wouldn’t be a Eugene writer any more than I’d be a Philly writer.

This time my transportation came from a Ride-Share note in the student union. A fellow student was heading home to Pittsburgh. His first response came from a guy who needed a ride to Shaker Heights in Cleveland.

My final destination was Delaware. We drove straight through in a big car so packed that all we had was sitting space. One guy drove while one rode shotgun and the other slept in the backseat.

I got out at the bus station in downtown Pittsburgh at night and rode the dog to Wilmington.

Turns out this was a false start and three months later I had the choice of moving back to Oregon, or to New York City. As a ‘starting over’ fan, I chose the Big Apple.

Besides, I knew people there. Okay, one person, maybe two.

One Year Later, Give Or Take

By then I had a handle on what it meant to start over again and again.

I could have stayed in Philadelphia and started a real life instead of drifting in the wind.

Eugene felt too close to North Bend, Delaware reminded me of Eugene with an extra 3000 miles. NYC and Philly were too close to each other.

If I had stayed in the big city I saw the future in the Gotham weirdos.

I checked out the hot spots for new music at the time. For all of the press they got, they were still dumps full of ‘look at me’, from CBGB, to the late 70’s version of Max’s Kansas City, and Lone Star Cafe.

They reminded me of Deb’s, formerly known as Rippers, in North Bend.

Should I stay, or should I go? Once the question came up, I knew the answer. Unfortunately, the airlines were on strike, but Greyhound had its famous $100 ticket to anywhere.

I loaded up and jumped on board at Port Authority on the Westside, a night bus headed west for three days straight.

Starting over in Portland, Oregon was my ‘anywhere fare’ destination

I knew one person in Portland, so my starting over plans were in line.

I was a stranger in a strange land on both coasts, but now I was closer to family, about two hours away.

Portland was where I’d settle into a real life with real people, not the sort of transients like I was everyplace else.

I’d seen Portland from the freeway growing up. On trips to my Dad’s family in Washington we’d zip by on the Eastside I-5 with the city skyline reflecting off the Willamette River.

And never stop.

Now I saw the city through a prism of Philadelphia and New York and it looked small in comparison, like Coquille looks to a North Bend city boy.

Portland is where I found someone on my time schedule, someone who’d take a chance with a flakey character, who saw something I didn’t see.

I was a flake in Delaware and everywhere else I landed, including Portland. If every relationship has a flakey member, I was it. Of course I could blame others for being flakey and indecisive and insecure for dating a flake.

But it wasn’t them. It was me.

I had experience flaking out

My last attempt to flake out came before I got married. I tried to demote my steady from fiancé back to girlfriend.

She let me know which way the wind blows on flakey characters. Apparently I wasn’t the end-all be-all I thought I was. She was ready to dump me before I was ready to get dumped.

I’d been ready before, even anticipating the event, but not pushing a timeline.

Not this time. I had to make a decision, make a promise, get serious about someone else’s feelings.

I shook my flakey self and stepped up to the challenge of getting married, staying married, raising kids, and not looking back.

If this post sounds like it comes from someone looking back, it’s not.

But, if I was a ‘look back’ kind of guy, I see common threads shared with everyone who has been important in my life.

All that was missing was the magical question: “Who do you want to be.”

“Do you want to drift from one city to the next collecting superficial relationships that you move away from but never end so you can have the thought that you meant something to somebody once, but they’ve moved on and you haven’t?”

“Or be an apartment dude for life with one room and a bed so big it takes up most of the space with no chairs for anyone to sit on and a collection of pretty jars filled with screws so your new date can ask why as she sits on the side of the bed and takes off her coat and arranges the pillows?”

“If you have a chance to share a life with someone who loves you and wants a family with you, who brings you joy, along with a cavalcade of tears over a lifetime together, you should take it. That’s the big leagues, the big time. Husband, wife, house in the suburbs life. Dogs and cars and superstars. What’s it gonna be, boy?”

Starting over never came up again.