Nuri Kilani, ca. 2010
A friend of mine died a couple of weeks ago. His death brought his friends – very good friends – together. We cooked together. Drank some beer. Laughed at memories. Exchanged hugs and tears and backslaps and fistbumps. And at one o’clock last Friday night we buried him. Threw his ashes in the air and watched them sparkle in the moonlight.
I hadn’t seen some of these people in decades, and that was my friend’s final gift: Come together again, brothers and sisters. Come together and share your joy.
Now, regrettably, I’m about to leave my old/new friends behind.
I will leave behind the store that sold fourteen-ounce bottles of lemon juice for $1.69. It took me five years to find that store and with it, to finally master the perfect margarita. I will leave behind the electric bicycle that whisked me downtown and parked there in six minutes. I will leave behind the magnolia tree in the back yard. I will leave behind the glorious Pacific Northwest that has been my home for nearly seventy years.
It’s getting to be that time. We’re five days from departure and that inevitable sense of foreboding is come upon us. What the hell are we doing? I sold my bed, of all things, at the estate sale. I paid for that bed, fifty dollars a month, when I was destitute and it was my only selfish luxury.
Our friends say “I wish I was doing what you’re doing,” but they aren’t doing it. There’s gotta be a reason for that. Is it because they’re sane?
Five days to go.
(Photo by Stephen Giovannoni)
The Expat Almanac 
You are the only sane one!
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Re-reading my post, I see I said I will miss my friends, my bed, and lemon juice. You call that sane?
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It’s not quite sane, but I like it better than, “I will not miss my friends, my bed nor my lemon juice.”
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We’ll miss you too….well, I can’t speak for the lemon juice, but as a friend, trips to Portland won’t be the same without you and Louise to cavort with. Sanity is overrated.
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“Sanity is overrated.” Think I’ll have that tattooed on my arm…
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We organize life–lemon juice and beds–and we get used to the luxury of the predictability and availability of those things. it’s fantastic. Until it’s not. Too much predictability injures a sense of adventure. One could just take a new route to work. Or wash clothes by hand for a week. But we don’t. I am a big fan of selling it all, moving to someplace i have never been and discovering that lemons were only an ingredient in margaritas because we hadn’t yet discovered some other, far better tropical fruit. Bon Voyage to you both!
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Today’s life lesson: Predictability injures a sense of adventure. Thanks, Lekshe!
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So sorry to hear of Nuri’s passing, Tom. I know you loved the man and he returned the love.
You’ll forgive us, I hope, for not coming the the bon voyage party. I’m too emotional for that kind of thing.
Glad you and LL made some time for the Babe and myself when we last saw you.
And we are already looking forward to seeing you again when you come back to the States for a quick visit
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I may be too emotional for the bon-voyage party myself. Maybe you and I should just sneak off to a dark bar somewhere and teach the bartender how to make perfect margaritas. It may require practice.
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PS – Where did you get 14 ounces of lemon juice for $1.69? This would help my friends. 😉
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Cash and Carry in NW Portland, https://www.smartfoodservice.com/.
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Oh yeah. Forgot about that place. Kirpa bought his wholesale stuff there, so Kashi knows all about it. Haha..life secret.
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Dont hesitate Tom, in our 6 months of nomading we have met some of the most interesting people that one can imagine..Your friend base will triple before you know it..Everyone has a story, and they are all terribly interesting…collect experiences not things !!
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Comments like this bolster our confidence. You’ve been there, done that, and not only lived to tell about it, but to recommend it. Thanks, Don!
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Tom, take it from someone who’s danced this dance a few times, you and Louise will have a wonderful time. Of course, major life changes always require some adjustments, and this will take a bit of time. But you’ll find that the things that were really important to you in our old life, will still be in your new life, plus you’ll have all those new adventures as well. We were expats for 7-8 years, and we don’t regret one single moment. And with today’s technology, family and friends are only a Skype call, email, or blog post away. Believe me, you’re going to love it. ~James
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There will be a day when we are overseas and everything goes to hell. That’s the day I’ll Skype you, James (if our Internet connection is working) and remind you of this comment. 😉
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Tom, I have very dear friends who did the same thing; only they cruised on their sailboat for 5 years. They made fantastic friends, just adding to an already large base of friends. Plus, I got to join them two years in a row in the Caribbean for two of the most fabulous vacations ever. My daughter spent a year in Spain while in college and still cherishes that time. She also was “adopted” by her roommates family. They’re still in touch and visit with one another. I’m even included in the visits. You’re just expanding your horizons! Bon Voyage!
P.S. Wouldn’t you rather be doing this than staying a hermit and moving to Sisters?
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I am soooo encouraged by all these replies! It’s not like I have a choice, of course, for the wheels are turning and we depart Saturday regardless, but the encouragement is welcome regardless.
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Tom, It was good to see you again after so many years! And now you will be gone again, it doesn’t seem fair. But I am pleased that we celebrated Nuri’s life together, that was special. Stay in touch as you journey afar.
curt
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Yes, it was good. Very good. And though the circumstances were unfortunate, the occasion was great fun. Nuri was pleased, no doubt.
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Five days to go on the adventure of a lifetime! I think you two are extremely lucky to be able to make this move – your friends are jealous for a reason. Live it up, especially for your friends that you leave behind.
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Thanks, Freedman. Yes, we’re lucky, and we’re especially aware of it. It simply wouldn’t do to go through this experience without awareness and thanks.
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At the risk of sounding condescending, I will speak/write, everyone (sane and insane) feels anxiety about leaving. Indeed, Thomas, you are a man who loves his home, his surround; however, I think you will make your surround wherever you are. Also, you can always come back. As nothing is irreversible in life, except death. This is all an experiment. Yes, we can all envy your decision to not let grass grow under your feet, but you’re right some of us are firmly planted in our terra firma and will vicariously enjoy your new adventures.
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Thank you for writing Catherine! I *do* love my “surround,” as you put it. I have always shaped it to fit my style. But for a year we’ll be living in private homes and apartments. Not much opportunity for change there. (And modifying one’s surround usually implies acquiring stuff, and we’re definitely not in the acquisition mode.) In other words, this will be a challenge. I’m up for it.
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