The sojourn that you’re not on

Starts in PDX before bussing to Sactown, jumping to Brooklyn, and then taking a final Cali flight

On Thursday afternoon I was reading the weekly newsletter that you did not receive, admiring the quality of my intro writing and latest entries.

Then I got so sleepy.

Tech challenged and tired enough that I didn’t want to risk ruining your newsletter with mediocrity—close friends know that I grow more dull as the day moves on— I dashed off that “State of the Sojourn” email and bought a Friday night Greyhound ticket to Sacramento.

News is perishable, but I am so fucking vain. My Portland live/work situation had become untenable. (Without getting into detail, the kitten situation grew far too gnarly.) Yesterday I landed in California and took some time to get my mind right, hoping my West Coast news perspective feels fresh on Monday.

Last night I learned that my take on the Washington Huskies women’s soccer team—American sport’s most inspirational story —needs an update. Then I saw that the local pro hoops fan site reveals a new darkness that enveloping Kings fandom.

And out of nowhere, my sons’ mum texted these pictures this morning.

In Brooklyn at age 5, my firstborn wore the Jason Williams Sacramento jersey a bunch. These pictures are outtakes from the author photo session that my ex, the extraordinary Amy Osburn, had in 2001. (Forrest and I are in an apartment above our Cobble Hill joint, as the upper unit was being refurbished)

The texts threw me for a loop, in part because I happen to be in Sactown and had forgotten how much the ascendant Kings were a part of our New York consciousness. Sacramento would never be as excited about hoops as it was in that moment.

The twin pics were impactful and update-worthy in their own right, because of this fuckin guy—

My first-born son is running as part of a leadership slate for the LA Democratic Socialists. Their goals are ambitious, but scalable.

I learned about the campaign last night, while in the heart of recovery; my body still hurt from the overnight ’hound. The fact that I wasn’t hacking it in Oregon began mattering less. Right now? I see the big picture and am only mostly sure that you’re ever going to see what I was fussing over a few days ago.

The larger picture is much more compelling.

Multiple times each week I take a crack at producing bespoke journalism for watchers of America’s West Coast. Content aggregation with a bit of soul and style. Please support my independent project by recommending the Sojourn Substack, via social media or the old-fashioned ways: Email folks. Use word of mouth. Go postal, even.

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