Going out to the airport, a man with a tennis racket sticking out of his suitcase takes a seat across from me on the train. Before long, he becomes one of the many people who asked me before, during and after my trip – do you know someone in Portland? Friends? Family?
I tell him what I told everyone else, “No, I went because I wanted to go.”
He calls me brave and admits he’s jealous because he could never travel alone like me and go somewhere without knowing a soul. I think nothing of it, and in that moment on the train, I forget to ask him, “What’s stopping you?”