Returning to a dream

I recently was able to return to a dream after waking up. That never happens to me, as much as I want it sometimes. Sure, when it is a nightmare, I am all too relieved to leave and fearful of ever returning.

I may be in the minority, but I have been transported back to some cinematic dreams recently too. Star Wars the Force Awakens, and Blade Runner 2049 were able to miraculously return me back to the worlds they originated from. A feat, considering how many decades have passed. And no less than Harrison Ford as a guide for both. These are days I never thought could come, especially the cruel way the Prequels dashed our hopes for rollicking adventure and generous humor in a galaxy far, far away. And Blade Runner, the cult film with legs. A sequel? So many false starts, like tears in rain.

Live to work or work to live?

I just returned from a trip to Portland. Let it be said: I love Portland. It is a old city with a real frontier spirit, both in it's founding DNA to present day. In that it is similar to my home town of San Francisco. It debatably differs in many other ways. There is a humble pride in craft. There is constant invention. And there is serious side-hustle. I don't think you can honestly call yourself a Portlander if, outside of your day job, you are not in a band, roasting your own coffee beans, creating art, or plotting a pop-up restaurant or food pod. I may slip into generalization, but it just seems like there is extra energy in the air (or maybe it's the plentiful and excellent caffeine) when the whistle blows, and everyone jumps on their bikes to their other calling. I don't get the sense they are spent after a brutal day at work, eager to get home and tune out online or watching TV.

Photo by Adrian