exposing myself
I could write a long introduction here explaining what this is and why I'm doing it, but honestly, it's not that deep and neither am I. You'll figure it out if you keep reading. Or you won't, and that's fine too.
I'm heading to Venice in February. I've been thinking about it for months. Not the logistics, though those exist, but what I'm actually trying to do there. What I'm trying to see and make.
I know what I'm not doing. I'm not documenting it. No one needs another golden-hour shot of the Rialto, another gondola reflection, another mask in a shop window.
Having a birthday on Christmas Day has never felt like getting shortchanged, though people always ask when they find out. My parents were great at making sure we celebrated both. Christmas in the morning. My birthday in the afternoon. Rather than feeling gypped, I loved it. It felt quietly significant... a day that belongs to many but somehow still feels like it’s just mine. It's the rarest birth date after February 29th - a statistical anomaly that's always made the day feel a little more set apart.
I'm turning 63 on Christmas Day, which feels like it should mean something. The math suggests I'm closer to the end than the beginning. Fuck math.
This summer, I'm moving to Portugal. Permanently. To a town on the northern coast I passed through once on a cycling trip. I don't speak Portuguese beyond obrigado and whatever I can butcher with my Pimsleur and Babbel lessons.
A few months ago, my friend Tracy called to tell me that she and her wife were moving to France. Just like that. They'd made the decision and were doing it. Something clicked for me right then and there. What's happening right now in this country is frightening. And it feels unsafe, even for an old, white, gay guy.
I spent 25 years making other people's products better. I was good at it. But once I left (or more honestly, was left), that was it. It was done. And strangely, I barely think about it anymore. Decades of work, all but forgotten. And now we're moving to Portugal... my dog and I, to do what, exactly? Take pictures?
Already There
The process of emigrating to Portugal is an exercise in patience and frustration.
I’ve hired a service to guide me through it, and they've been helpful. But even so, I often feel adrift, unsure of what comes next or when. There's paperwork, and then more paperwork. Documents that need to be apostilled - whatever the hell that means. Dates that depend on other dates. Gates that won't open until others close…