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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (July 17, 2009)
OREGON S GAY/LESBIAN/Bl/TRANS NEWSMAGAZINE JULY 17 2009 35 M V O IC E S Bom to Run The elevator doors glide shut in front of me. I lean forward, put my forehead against the cool metal and shut my eyes, try to breathe. “Fuck,” I whisper softly to myself, “I just lost my job.” A few days earlier, Brad and I are sitting in some McMenamins somewhere, washing down tater tots with IPAs. I am engaged in my two favorite pastimes: bemoaning my love life and running my hands over the sat isfying spikiness of my newly shaved head. “I got some great advice once,” Brad tells me. “You just have to run - run hard after your goals, stay focused on them and pursue them tirelessly.” He picks up his Terminator and sips it with the demure verve of a musi cal theater man. “While you’re pursuing what nourishes you, at some point you’ll look over and re alize that there’s someone running beside you. Just stay focused on being yourself and achieving your goals, and love naturally follows.” I set down my glass. “That seems easy for you to say, Mr. Buddhist-with-a-great-boy- friend-and-a-fulfilling-career.” Brad smiles. “Well, yes, it’s easy to say and hard to demonstrate. Worth a shot, though, isn’t it?” He takes the last tater tot, and I smile back. Flash forward to now, when I am stand ing in the lobby of the building that, up until REM EM BER TO BREATH E by Nick Mottos If I run a t full sprint a fte r th e th in g s th a t nourish me. I w o n 't ju s t fin d love - th e life I d re a m a b o u t w ill n a tu ra lly fo llo w . B e in g m yself a n d sta ying m o tiv a te d to a c h ie v e my g o a ls a re th e ca u se s th a t le a d to th e e ffe c t, victo ry. This is e a sy to sa y a n d h a rd to d e m o n s tra te ... 45 minutes ago, was my office. The elevator bell chimes behind me, I hear the cables stretch as the car ascends, but I don’t move. After holding a huge and crazily diverse ar ray of jobs since age 15,1 am now one of the almost 13 percent of Oregonians who are unemployed. I look at the fake potted plant, the in - My god, I love this city. tentionally innocuous office art, stand wide- I didn’t just move to Portland - two years eyed with my back to the elevator door. What ago, I ran for my life and ended up here, in the fuck do those 13percent do with themselves? a tiny studio with no job and a futon by the In front of me are beige walls and industrial window to sit on while I wrote. Somehow, carpet, all around me the smell of clinical that guy evolved into me, here on the Mor cleaning products, at my back the elevator rison Bridge - and I got here by running at a humming and groaning. full sprint after my goals, by tirelessly pursu My eyes close - What the fuck do I do with ing the life I dreamed about. myself? I think, inhaling sharply. I look to the south and realize that Brad Ding] sounds the elevator, and I open my is right. If I run at full sprint after the things eyes. This, I think - and I run. that nourish me, I won’t just find love - the I dash outside, onto Fourth Avenue life I dream about will naturally follow. Be with the junkies and the homeless people. ing myself and staying motivated to achieve My Frye boots pound against the pavement my goals are the causes that lead to the ef and I fly past street kids, canvassers, a man fect, victory. This is easy to say and hard to playing buckets like drums. My leather bag demonstrate - but fuck, it’s worth a shot, the slaps my back as I bound up the stairs of only shot I have left. And that is the most the Morrison Bridge, the bridge only crazy beautiful and exciting thing about it. people walk across - appropriate because The cars zip by and the wind whips my at this moment I am so crazy, this man in face. With sharp teeth, I smile a free man’s suit and tie running across the commuter smile at the river, the tall buildings of the bridge, slowing to a stop, doubled over, lungs west, the warehouses of the east, the wind. I burning. smile at every car, sweaty in my suit and with 1 stand upright, panting. I look to the nothing left to lose, and slowly make my way west, the huge buildings of downtown, the home. mansions on the hill. To the east are ware houses, coffee houses, the great glass spires N ick M attos is learning how to balance of the convention center. I look to the north, being a recessionista and a bon vivant. He is the and perhaps it’s the exertion or the over Portland correspondent for the NYC men’s fash whelming loss of groundedness, but the only ion blog HommeBoy.net and the co-editor of the thing that passes through my mind is love literary zine When to Change. 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