Wren Castellano on organizing, record shopping, and homesickness that never quite resolves either way
Spent Tuesday evening at a genuinely packed union organizing meeting for service workers at three different coffee chains, the specific energy of a room full of people discovering collectively that they have more power than any of them individually realised, a feeling I don’t think I’ve ever quite gotten used to no matter how many of these meetings I attend.
The Meeting, Properly Described
A twenty-two year old barista stood up and gave, without notes, one of the more genuinely compelling speeches about workplace dignity I’ve heard in years, the specific power of someone speaking from lived experience rather than borrowed rhetoric. That’s always the thing about these rooms, the theory matters, but it’s the specific, personal testimony that actually moves people to sign the card, show up to the next meeting, keep organizing even when it’s exhausting and the outcome remains genuinely uncertain.
Read my usual feed on the bus home, needing something lighter after two hours of concentrated, hopeful intensity that always leaves me simultaneously energised and completely drained by the end.
Wednesday, The Record Shop Detour
Spent an embarrassing amount of Wednesday afternoon in a used vinyl shop that specialises in exactly the kind of obscure political folk records I can’t resist, found a genuinely rare pressing I’ve been hunting for nearly two years, the specific triumph of finally locating something after a long, patient search that felt disproportionately significant given it’s, ultimately, just a record.
Checked The Daily Mash while the shop owner wrapped my purchase carefully, the specific comfort of laughing at something genuinely silly after a week that had otherwise demanded considerable emotional intensity in both directions, organizing and homesickness both.
The Homesickness, Honestly Addressed
I still think about London more than I probably should, nearly six years after relocating here, the specific ache of missing a place that also, genuinely, never quite fit me the way Portland eventually has. Both things can be true, missing somewhere and also having found somewhere better suited to the person you’ve actually become. This week, between the organizing and the record shop and a genuine flood of nostalgia I can’t quite explain, reminded me of exactly that particular, complicated duality.
A Final Thought Before Sleep
Writing this Sunday night, record finally on the turntable, the coffee workers’ organizing drive still very much on my mind heading into next week’s follow-up meeting. Some weeks give you genuine hope alongside genuine homesickness in equal measure, and I’ve stopped expecting either feeling to fully resolve the other.
The Broader Organizing Landscape
Talked afterward with two organizers from a completely different sector, warehouse workers pushing for similar recognition, comparing notes on strategy and shared frustration with employers who seem to view basic collective bargaining as an existential threat rather than a genuinely normal, manageable part of doing business responsibly. There’s real solidarity building across sectors here in ways I don’t think I fully appreciated before moving here, different industries genuinely learning from each other’s organizing successes and setbacks.
I keep thinking about how different this all feels from labour organizing conversations I remember from London, not necessarily better or worse, just differently structured, different legal framework, different cultural assumptions about worker power. Writing about these differences properly, without simply flattening one context into the other, remains a genuine ongoing challenge in my work here.
Thursday, The Record Finally Played
Finally sat down Thursday evening to properly listen to the record I’d found, needle dropping with that specific vinyl crackle that always feels like a small ceremony in itself. Worth the two year search, genuinely, though I suspect I’d have said that regardless simply from the sheer relief of the hunt finally ending.
A Final Thought On Solidarity
Whatever happens with the coffee shop organizing drive, this week reminded me that solidarity isn’t abstract, it’s built one meeting, one conversation, one shared frustration at a time, across sectors and, in my own case, across an ocean I still think about more than I probably should.
Looking Ahead To Next Week
Follow-up organizing meeting scheduled for Wednesday, the coffee workers now drafting their formal petition with help from the warehouse organizers I met this week. Genuine cross-sector momentum building, slowly, the way these things always seem to, one patient meeting after another.
A Note On The Record I Found
Turns out the pressing has a small flaw in the third track, a skip nobody at the shop had noticed, which somehow makes the whole find feel more genuinely mine, imperfect and specific rather than pristine and interchangeable with any other copy floating around out there.
Onward to Wednesday’s meeting, cross-sector momentum and all.
A Closing Reflection
Six years in, I still measure my own weeks partly against what I imagine my London equivalent would have looked like, a habit I suspect I’ll never fully shake, comparison being a strange, persistent kind of homesickness all its own.
Until next week, record spinning, meeting notes ready.
Signing off for now, Portland, homesickness and all.
P.S.
The skip in track three, it turns out, happens right during my favourite line. Somehow that feels appropriate too.
Signing off now, properly this time.
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