Iceland, is my soulmate a country?

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I’m going to Iceland. 2 weeks from tomorrow. I’m halfway packed already. I like to be prepared.

I will be at this swimming pool pictured, in one of the 4 swimsuits I’m taking. They’re tiny! I’m planning on swimming every day!

I first went to Iceland 10 years ago. I stayed in a house, serendipitously near the gorgeous pond downtown. I landed in dusk, took the flybus into the city as it got dark, wheeled my suitcase from BSI, the bus terminal, to my flat not far. In the dark. Went to the wrong house and fished under the flowerpots before realizing I needed to go across the street. By the time I had gotten into my flat, unpacked and showered, the sun was coming up. I fell in love immediately with Reykjavik. I had the best time.

Iceland feels like a home, of sorts, to me. I just love it. I went last in 2015, to see Bjork, who had to cancel and break my heart, but being in Reykjavik I felt at home. Like coming home. I have yet to feel that here in Portland. I miss my hometown San Francisco all the time. But the city I love is gone. The city I live in is wildly over-rated. Portland is not all it’s cracked up to be. But I live here. Yet, after 4 years, I still don’t feel at home here.

It’s getting better. I love my house, my bizarre micro-attic dollhouse. It’s adorable. I’ve made it super cute with a very shabby chic style that Portlanders think they invented. I love my neighborhood. It’s super walkable, which isn’t always so in Portland. Work is going better, slowly, but it’s going. Shit is getting better.

Since moving here I’ve had the rug pulled out from underneath me while the shit was hitting the fan, aimed directly at my face. Like 3 times. In 4 years. Yeah. Not what I had hoped for when I escaped the crippling expense/rich-kids on the spectrum taking over the city with their google busses and their phones up their asses and their heads up their phones, up their asses. But it’s a much calmer pace in Portland. It has seasons, which I’ve discovered I do not particularly care for. But when it’s nice it’s very nice.

If I can really build a life here I might fall in love with Portland. The only other place I want to live is Scandinavia or some prime place in Europe. Berlin, Zurich. America gives em the creeps, eh. I can’t wait to be in Iceland, smell the air, see the colors, soak in the hottest hot pot at Vesterbaerlaugar. Road trip with my awesomest Icelandic girl friends.

But perhaps when I return I’ll feel like I’ve come home?

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