Notes From Portland

I’m standing at the corner of Jefferson in downtown Portland, pretending I’m just waiting for the light—but really, I’m arguing with myself.

My GPS is still mumbling directions in my AirPods, even though by now I know my way back to the hotel. I leave it on because it makes me feel safe, like there’s a grown-up in the room. City noise in the background, that little robotic voice in my ear, boots on the pavement—it’s all starting to feel familiar.

The crosswalk timer starts counting down in big red numbers.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

Left is the route I know. Back to my hotel, back to the version of me that follows directions.

Straight is the unknown.

Up ahead, I can see what looks like a small park. Rows of tall trees, branches heavy with leaves that refuse to fall all at once. Burnt orange, deep crimson—the exact shades I’d been obsessing over my entire trip. The kind of colors that make you feel like you’ve stepped inside a movie.

Seven. Six. Five.

Am I turning left like I’m “supposed” to, or am I walking toward the park?

Safety or curiosity. Familiar or new.

Four. Three.

I feel that New York version of me wake up—the one who walks with her shoulders back and acts like she belongs everywhere. I know where my hotel is. I know I’m okay.

Two. One.

“Fuck it,” I think. You know what you’re doing.

The light changes, and I go straight.

A few minutes later I’m standing in that little park, leaves falling around me like confetti. It’s quiet, prettier than I expected, and my first thought is, this is the perfect spot for a solo shot. I set up my camera, take a couple of photos, and out of nowhere a man appears beside me.

I jump, grab my camera, and start walking away, heart racing—but I’m also laughing.

Because underneath the scare, there’s this calm realization:

I tried something different. I trusted myself. I followed my curiosity instead of the script.

And I was still safe.

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The thing is, that moment didn’t happen on my first day in Portland.

When I arrived, my time felt short. I didn’t want to miss anything. I could feel that old itch creeping in—the need to do it all, see it all, document it all. I remembered how good it had felt in New York to wake up without a plan, simply asking myself what I wanted to do that day. But Portland felt different. Limited time does that to you. It makes everything feel urgent.

I worried I’d regret it if I slowed down.

Here’s what I didn’t have language for at the time—but understand clearly now.

Our nervous system is a pattern-recognition machine. Its main job is not joy or adventure or productivity. Its job is to constantly ask one simple question: am I safe right now?

When we travel, everything is new. New streets. New sounds. New routines. Even when we’re excited, our body is taking in a lot of information and trying to make sense of it all. Without realizing it, that can put us in a low-level state of alert. Nothing is wrong, but our system hasn’t gathered enough familiar cues yet to fully relax.

That’s where repetition comes in.

From a biological standpoint, familiarity equals safety. When you walk the same streets, pass the same corners, visit the same cafés, your nervous system starts recognizing patterns and saying, I’ve seen this before. I know where I am. I know how to get back.

That pattern recognition tells the body it’s okay to soften. To breathe deeper. To stop scanning for threats.

Choice matters here too.

There’s a difference between choosing to explore and feeling like you have to explore. Pressure—even self-imposed pressure—registers as stress to the nervous system. But when you remind yourself, I can always come back, you restore agency. And agency is one of the strongest signals of safety the body understands.

Save this. Screenshot it. Take it with you.

That’s why things shifted for me when I stopped trying to squeeze everything in. The urgency quieted. My body settled. And something interesting happened.

Real exploration became possible.

Because true exploration doesn’t come from pushing past discomfort. It comes after safety has been established. The nervous system follows this order every time: safety first, curiosity second. When the body feels oriented and familiar with its surroundings, curiosity turns back on. That’s when you walk one extra block. That’s when you go straight instead of turning left.

That’s when travel starts to feel expansive instead of overwhelming.