Longfellow Square in downtown Portland. photo/Corey Templeton Photography, courtesy City of Portland
An op-ed by Justina Warren
Living as an adult in the town where you were raised has its pros and cons. In a city like Portland, it made sense for me to stay put after high school. I didn’t have plans, or the financial backing, to head off somewhere new. There was a lot of uncertainty in front of me, but I knew how much I loved Portland. As I grew, I grew into the city, too.
It was a small city, and the places I dreamed about were big ones. But even then, I saw hope here. I knew how expensive it would be to live elsewhere. I had a frugal mindset early on.
Now I’m 30. I’ve managed to save 20 percent for what feels like a modestly priced home, but it still feels nearly impossible to actually buy one. Being a teacher doesn’t exactly help. I look at prices from just five years ago and realize I could’ve bought something then, no question. But now? Home prices are up 40 percent since 2019. It’s hard to believe.
And yet, Portland hasn’t physically really changed that much. At least not in the ways you’d think. What has changed is the character. That Boston energy has crept in. I used to love Portland for its quirkiness, for how easy it was to smile at strangers on the street. I don’t see as much of that now. Some of the places that made this city unique have just disappeared. In their place: bigger buildings I could never afford, tiny gray boxes selling for millions.
People still talk about Portland like it’s some hidden foodie paradise, but even happy hour isn’t cheap anymore. Some parts still feel like the place I’ve always known, but they’re shrinking.
Portland used to feel like a secret. Like the kind of place where people really looked out for one another. A real Mainer knows winter — not just in the “let’s go skiing” way, but in the shovel-your-driveway, fill-your-oil-tank, go-sledding-for-fun kind of way.
It’s hard and beautiful to grow old in a place like this. There’s pride here. But there’s also this weird, unspoken shift in energy. Something basic and good has changed.
We’ve pushed a lot of the locals out — the people who made Portland what it was. Investors have taken over the properties. First-time buyers can’t even get close unless it’s a total teardown. It feels bizarre and borderline unlivable sometimes.
When I think of the East End, I remember it as a neighborhood full of families with immigrant roots, full of energy and culture. Now, buildings are being torn down and historic homes are painted black, as if marked with this message: We couldn’t afford Boston, so we came here instead.
It’s sad. I’m at a loss. I love Portland deeply — for raising me, for letting me teach here. But when it feels like a constant battle just to stay, to find a home, it doesn’t feel like home. Not in the way it used to. Not in the way it’s supposed to.
That foundational culture — it’s gone.
