It’s been an absolute shit year. My cat died. I miss my ex like crazy. My dad didn’t talk to me for 10 months. I’m lonelier than I’ve ever been. I didn’t take good care of myself, as a rule. My only date was with a felon of the worst kind. I all but stopped exercising and have gained about 30 pounds since I moved here. I look haggard, I feel fucking terrible, and most if it is self-inflicted.

So, I’m looking forward. I’m going to change this stupid narrative.

STAMMTISCH. This is a German noun. It means, literally, “root-table”, “stem-table”, or “foundation table”. In many places in Europe, especially in rural communities, there is a local establishment with a large table in the best space in the place, and all of the locals sit there, in no particular order, at no particular time, just as they come in. Families sit there, friends do. Friends and family can bring newcomers to the table.

The Stammtisch isn’t exclusive to locals. You can sit there. But you realize after a few minutes that it’s an intrusion, even if it’s a subtle one. The people at the Stammtisch have been coming there for years. Decades. Sometimes generations. They will small talk with people at their table, and are often quite congenial, but you are not one of them.

My friend and mentor at the Corps of Engineers took me to his hometown in Colorado (Las Animas) on a work trip, where he not only grew up, but was a ranger at the COE-owned John Martin Dam before going back to school and becoming an archaeologist. Greg told me to meet him at a cafe early in the morning the day after we arrived, and I obliged. There I found four curmudgeons beside Greg, chatting away about farming, bitching about their wives and their bills, and generally engaging in familiar camaraderie. Greg told me he remembered going to this cafe with these guys as a kid with his Dad. It was a Stammtisch.

I’ve never been a part of a Stammtisch, per se, but I obviously recognize where I tend to fit in. To me the concept of the Stammtisch could extend to places where I feel like I’m in my element. Duke City BMX was my Stammtisch. Any chair lift at any ski resort is a Stammtisch. My work and friends in Albuquerque felt like home, and obviously my home with my partner was our root-table, hearth, and shelter. Those kinds of places and people feel few and far between these days.

But tonight, at one of my favorite hideaways, a place I haven’t been visiting long and also an incredibly busy place, I sat down at the bar. There was a long line for drinks, and so I just thought I’d wait until it slowed down. I took out my iPad and started to write this missive, and the lovely lady British bartender looked straight at me, despite the line, and said “Christina, would you like a beer and a shot?” I didn’t even know she knew my name.

It turns out that I am at a Stammtisch, albeit by myself, and in spite of the fact that this is not the Stammtisch I’m hoping to be a part of in future. But it’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m alone, so tonight this is my Stammtisch. I’m grateful to have the semblance of one at all.

Ever since I came to Portland, I’ve been trying to leave. I’ve been applying for jobs left and right, most of which never materialize. I got one, in Bend, OR, and chickened out and turned it down because I didn’t want to move again. I couldn’t take another upheaval so soon after so many others.

I’ve moved apartments within the city, for some good reasons, though not without unrealistic expectations. The phrase “no matter where you go, there you are” keeps running through my head, and that is a truth I embrace. But I don’t feel like I’m running away from something, I’m just running. I’ve been running for a couple of years now.

The result is that I can never settle, never stop, never breathe. At this rate I will never have a Stammtisch, never find a community, never commit to work and friends and love, all the things I claim to be running toward.

So what do I fear? I fear becoming trapped. I fear stasis. I fear becoming complacent in my life the way I was for the last 25 years. But complacency and stasis might be necessary for a bit of peace. I fear becoming entrenched, making future moves even more difficult.

I’ve been having conversations with my therapist about unpacking. Not unpacking mental baggage, as one might expect, although we’re doing some of that, too. I mean about literally, physically unpacking, and organizing, and making my space my own. As long as I have this constant “leaving” mindset, running to the next thing that also might not work, forever searching for some elusive end goal that I truly can’t even define at this point, I can never find peace.

What do I actually want? What am I trying to gain? What is my end goal? These are the questions that need to be answered before I plot my next move, so that I’m running toward something. I need to take a bit of time to imagine my ideal life, and then go in that direction.