We arrived in Portland just over a week ago, and I feel different. Happy. Restless. Confused. Excited. Apprehensive. That’s all part of the deal, of course. Moving countries is not for the faint of heart. I expected the jet lag and the lack of routine and the endless slog of getting a new life set up while trying to keep two small kids reasonably happy. But I didn’t expect how detached I would feel — immediately — from my life online.

I’m used to reading, sharing, writing, all the time. For the past couple of weeks I’ve felt the same pressure to do all those things, but none of the will. My mind is completely taken over by the business of life-making. That’s a good thing, I guess. But it also means that I look at things that used to interest me with a distinct apathy — one of my least favorite of emotions — as if from a distance.

I feel. That we should work a little quieter.

I feel. That we should separate who we are from what we do.

I feel. That we should probably play with our kids a bit more.

I feel. That we should only speak up when we have something edifying to say.

I feel. That I should shut up now and try to figure out what all this means.