After the Newness
Life once things settle
For those reading this post for the first time—and as a reminder to myself—I write to see clearly, to remain attentive, and to stay awake to the extraordinary ordinary that greets me each day.
The Perennial Immigrant has become a way to reflect on the life I’m building in Portugal with a new language, with new customs, with awe-inspiring scenery and the quiet discovery of kindness and generosity that so often appear unasked.
And that change and growth remain possible at any age for those who dare to dream of other ways of being and doing.
If this reflection speaks to you, please press the ❤️ button below — it helps The Perennial Immigrant find its way to new readers.
Walk slowly. Listen closely. Learn always.
Because an enchanted life recognises the need both for rigour and for the freewheeling imagination. The one doesn’t have to exclude the other. The world isn’t black and white. [1]
I ran into friends on the street coming back from walking their pooches. It had been a few weeks since I’d seen them, so I asked how they were. “Wet,” they said.
It’s been that kind of month—endless days of rain, gray skies holding. I find myself thinking of spring, though it’s still two months away. So we put on the rain gear and wipe our feet before coming in. Even then, the outside seems to follow us, finding its way onto the floors.
It’s a time when imagination is required. Laundry can’t be put outside to dry, so the heated rack comes out—first for a slow warm-up, then into a drying cycle that runs an hour or more. Clothes are layered on and taken off again, shifted and rebalanced. It requires more tending than letting the sun do the work.
Still, these small inconveniences keep my hands and mind occupied. É o que é. (it is what it is)
A sense of humor helps. A recent exchange on a friend’s WhatsApp group says as much. Ted asked what he might bring to an upcoming get-together. “Maybe just a simple appetizer,” came one reply.
As for the host: “I’ll make a main—just not sure what yet. Maybe rainwater.”
On the river a few days ago, small whitecaps moved east. The next day, after the weather calmed, the water flowed west. It felt choreographed, though it was likely just the tide turning. The urge to invent stories during this wet stretch is strong. The birds seem uninterested, perched on the rocks, resting after their daily calisthenics.
The windows onto the river make room for small stories. Misty, then not; rain, then a pause; wind blowing sideways, trees moving with it. There’s a quick calculation—time to walk the pooch—then a reassessment. It’s started to rain again.
Imagination and a sense of humor are steady companions now. They make things workable.
I get my hair cut at a barbershop—26 de junho. João is an artist with scissors and he knows how curtinho I like my hair. It feels a bit like a day at the spa, though when I leave I usually pull on a cap — very short hair at the back and sides is a chilly proposition.
Most visits it’s a full house, and the crew has fun. If any of the barbers drops one of their tools, they have to stop and do ten pushups. Laughter, music and the background sounds of a soccer game playing out on the TV screen is what we experience.
On our last visit, it was a quiet day inside the shop with only two barbers working. The conversation with João was steady—he likes to ask about the United States and I’m perennially curious about Portugal. He’s shares his life story and shows us pictures of his young daughter. He works long hours on his feet, but always greets Ted and me with a smile and the traditional, “Tudo bem?”
On this visit, the barber who works next to João overheard me speaking in Portuguese. He’s been there since we first started coming, back when I spoke mostly English. Diogo commented on how much my Portuguese had improved. Then he added, “You speak better than some natives.”
Moment noted. Didn’t see that coming.
With that short hair and along with a few hats for different seasons and occasions, I’ve become easy to recognize. A neighbor once said she saw someone in a hat down the street and assumed it was me. An interesting place to be.
The hair, the hats, the language. They’ve settled. I’m still getting used to that.
Even so, as I write, I feel a restlessness I can’t name just yet. I know the feeling. I was born walking fast. I own that, and I know when it comes upon me I have to wait to see where it leads. I’ve done things on dares, changed careers in my fifties, started new paths, changed countries. This feels different. Quieter, but more insistent — not wanting to be ignored. Hurry up and wait.
Gone is the feeling of newness that prevailed after we moved into this apartment in April 2024. Things needed to be done: boxes unpacked, furniture placed, artwork located, curtains hung. When to clean, when to do laundry, how to manage new gadgets and household tools that multiplied quickly — all of it demanded attention. Slowly, I dialed this back. Cleaning not all at once, but in manageable stages. Adjusting to washing and, more often, drying clothes when the sun disappears for months. It’s become easy to manage. Easy to manage creates time — idle hands.
Waiting to understand the source of the restlessness leads me to our storage unit in the basement. Much like the garage in Coral Gables that took years to clear out, this one needs attention. Over the past two years it’s accumulated empty boxes, along with other things we added because we thought we might need them. Flattening boxes for recycling, identifying items to donate, making space for winter gear when it’s not in use — all of it presents an opportunity.
Family photos in boxes and plastic sleeves that didn’t get digitized before we left are also on the list. Some go back many years, a few into the nineteenth century, with small notes attached to identify who is who. Those will be dealt with as well, though I’m not sure how just yet.
Ted is our family photographer. He has a natural eye for framing and composition. I don’t have that gift, but what I capture — closeups of odd natural objects, reflections, and lately people in everyday settings — is good enough. Recently, I added a grip to my iPhone so it sits in my hand more like a camera. With it, I can move in close using the telephoto or go wide with little effort. I press a button to take the picture; a small lever controls the zoom. I keep it on a strap, easy to pull out, easy to put away. I’m learning how it works.
Alongside the cleaning of spaces, the giving away of things that no longer fit or aren’t needed, and the work at the gym, photography has re-entered my days. I stay with it, and wait, without needing to know what comes next.
If you’re up for it, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Answer all, one, or none—whatever speaks to you. I’m simply grateful that you’ve read all the way to the end.
Do you have a favorite quote?
What is your superpower?
As always, até logo—see you later!
Thank you for the gift of your time, attention and support.
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Obrigada,
Maria—The Perennial Immigrant
Vila Nova de Gaia, Portugal
Notes and Sources
[1] Sharon Blackie. The Enchanted Life: Unlocking the Magic of the Everyday (p. 16). (Function). Kindle Edition.
Most photos were taken by Ted Evangelakis, the guy with a Master of Fine Arts in Photography. The not-so-good ones are all mine.
Not envying you on the rain. Loving our time in the perennial sun. Now in Australia, we shiver at night at 18 deg C. Especially camping. Already shorten our visit here in the “west” which is south. Going back to bali. It rains there as well. But at least it is warm.
Ok, here goes: my superpower? Appreciation, maybe. Sort of a near-constant micro-gratitude. I notice and appreciate things to admire and enjoy. Beautiful things, kind or skillful actions, kids being themselves, animals likewise, someone with an intriguing look to their face or posture, meaningful human interactions. I can easily be gobsmacked by clouds. It's a super-power because it changes my mood and how I act, and helps me be more open to people and see them (I hope) a bit more clearly. Part of me is always waiting for those things, and always finds them.