Beyond the Cascade: To My Best Friend

“If you move somewhere new and don’t feel that sense of loss or unease, I’m not sure you’re fully engaging with the experience. It’s through those feelings that you grow, adapt, and ultimately transform.” 

William Matheny

William and I first crossed paths a few years ago, just as the world stood on the brink of an event that would redefine our lives: the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020. From that fortuitous meeting, our lives became intertwined, woven together by a friendship that has navigated profound challenges and joys. Over the past five years, our bond has served as a lens through which we explore questions of human connection, cultural exchange, and resilience.

We share a background in graphic design, as well as the experience of not being from Portland. William is originally from Laurel, Mississippi, and I am from San José, Costa Rica. He was the first friend I made in the United States. This shared context has shaped our friendship, offering us insights into what it means to create a sense of belonging in a place far from home. Our conversations often touch on universal themes, from the expectations and realities of moving to a new city to the unexpected lessons of cross-cultural friendships.

In this interview, we reflect on our shared experiences and examine how friendship evolves across cultural and geographic boundaries, the concept of chosen family, and the role of art in fostering understanding. This is not just a conversation about us, but a broader exploration of the human condition—our struggles, hopes, and connections. This discussion is an invitation to consider how personal relationships can illuminate universal truths and inspire us toward a future where differences are not a weakness, but a strength.

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Manfred Parrales: Moving often feels like being suspended between two worlds. How do you navigate the tension between the person you were before moving to Portland, Oregon, and the person you’ve become after sixteen years here? What’s your starting point?

William Matheny: I’m William Matheny, 39 years old, originally from Laurel, Mississippi—though I haven’t lived there for the past 16 years. My journey to Portland started in an unexpected way. I was studying design at the University of Southern Mississippi, but after just one semester, I realized I couldn’t stay in Mississippi any longer. It just hit me one day—I needed to leave.

I picked three schools to apply to and decided that whichever one accepted me first would be where I’d go. As it turned out, the first acceptance letter came from a school in Portland, Oregon. Six months later, I packed my things, moved here, and started school. I graduated, decided to stay, and, well, the rest is history.

Manfred: How do you define the person you were before leaving Mississippi and the person you’ve become after sixteen years?

William: When I moved to Portland, I was 22. Now I’m 39. That’s 16, almost 17 years of growth, and I can confidently say I’m a completely different person than I was back then. 

What stands out most about that time is the culture shock I experienced upon arriving in Portland. Coming from such a staunchly Republican and conservative environment, the contrast was stark. Growing up gay in Mississippi was an experience I didn’t realize was so unique—or even unusual—until I moved here. It wasn’t until I left that I began to understand just how different my upbringing was from the values and culture of this part of the world. Portland, in many ways, felt like a completely different planet.

There was a significant tension within me as I adjusted. It took years of unlearning and challenging the old ideas I had about how the world worked, or how my life was “supposed” to be. Letting go of those ingrained notions was difficult, but it was also transformative. It reshaped how I see myself and how I navigate the world.Moving to Portland allowed me to grow into the person I truly am. I could never have done that staying in Mississippi. Living here gave me the space to discover more of myself—my identity, my values, and my sense of belonging—in ways I never imagined possible back home. For that, I’m deeply grateful.

Manfred: When you leave a place you call home to build a new life—pursuing a dream, a career, love, or a job—there’s often a sense of loss. Did you feel that sense of loss when you moved from Mississippi to Portland?

William: When I left Mississippi and moved to Portland, the first six months were incredibly difficult. I struggled so much with the adjustment. In fact, six months after arriving, I called my mom and told her to buy me a ticket home. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I missed my friends and the familiarity of everything I had left behind. It felt overwhelming.

But my mom, being the wise person she is, told me, “You said you wanted to do this. Stick to it. I’m not buying you a ticket back home. Give it a year and see what happens.” That tough love was one of the best things she ever did for me. What felt like the hardest, scariest thing I’d ever done—leaving behind everything and everyone I knew to move to a completely unfamiliar place—ended up being a pivotal moment in my life. It was my first major life shift, and in many ways, it prepared me for others that followed. 

I think that sense of loss, that discomfort, is a necessary part of growth. If you move somewhere new and don’t feel that sense of loss or unease, I’m not sure you’re fully engaging with the experience. It’s through those feelings that you grow, adapt, and ultimately transform. It’s not easy, but it’s essential.

William 2 years old (1987). Photo courtesy by William Matheny. / William, dos años (1987). Fotografía cortesía de William Matheny.

Manfred: How do you think moving challenges the concept of home? Can we ever truly belong to a single place?

William: That’s a tough one—can we ever truly belong to a single place? Honestly, I’m not sure. Even now, after all these years in Portland, I sometimes feel restless, like it doesn’t always feel like “home.” Moving has really challenged my understanding of what home even means. I’ve come to see it less as an external place and more as something internal—about who you are and who you’re with, rather than where you are.

That said, I do believe there are places we’re drawn to, places that call to us in a way that feels significant. Those places can be “home,” but I don’t think we’re limited to just one. I completely agree that we can have more than one home, and we can find home in people as much as in places. 

Ultimately, though, I think the most important kind of home is the one we create within ourselves. That’s the only thing that’s ever truly ours. It’s not tied to geography or circumstance—it’s something we carry with us, no matter where we go.

Manfred: You’ve had your own experiences building community, friendships, and relationships across different cultures. In our friendship, William, do you think friendships like ours—built across cultural and geographic divides—help foster deeper understanding of each other? What moments of tension or misunderstanding have led to a deeper insight about ourselves and each other?

William: I think the biggest thing I’ve learned from our friendship and from my relationships with other people from different cultures is the realization of the privilege I’ve had growing up, and still have, simply by being from the United States.

Seeing people I love deeply struggle just to find work, just to stay in this country, just trying to survive here—it’s made me realize the extent of that privilege. The ability to travel freely, to have access to opportunities… I was really ignorant about that before meeting so many people who are struggling in ways that I couldn’t even imagine.

I think what’s been really eye-opening for me is understanding how, no matter how hard people try, they don’t always have the same access or permission to be here. And even for those who do manage to stay, they still don’t have the same access to resources that people from the U.S. do. That’s been a tough pill to swallow. But I also think that learning about these things and having conversations with people about them has really deepened my relationships. It’s made me more aware, more compassionate. And honestly, it’s changed me for the better.

Manfred: Do you have a specific memory related to that, something that comes to mind or to your heart, when you think about all the people you’ve met throughout your life, here in Portland and perhaps back home?

William: I think the memory that stands out most to me is from meeting a few people here in Portland who came with certain citizenships or visas, or who were here for school, and it never even crossed my mind that they might not be able to stay. 

But then, to learn that there’s this hard deadline, and that there’s absolutely nothing anyone can do to help them stay here, was a huge shock. It was a real eye-opener for me. To find out that there are only a few legal ways to stay in the country, and that many of those options are just not accessible to most people who are here—it really made me realize how much I didn’t know about the immigration process. It was kind of mind-blowing.

Manfred: Part of these experiences require a lot of listening to others. How does the act of listening, especially across differences—like with people from other places and cultures—become a radical form of connection and understanding for you?  

William: I think more than anything, in any type of relationship—whether it’s a friendship, family, or romantic relationship—listening is absolutely paramount. It’s essential to having a genuine relationship with anyone. 

I’ve learned over time to listen to people naturally, but I’ve also encountered many individuals who speak over others or simply don’t listen. The feeling of not being heard is really intense, and I personally experienced that at a young age—not being heard or seen. Because of that, I think I learned early on how important it is to listen to people.  

Will’s 3rd birthday party (1988). Photo courtesy of William Matheny. / Fiesta de cumpleaños de Will, 3 años (1988). Fotografía cortesía de William Matheny.

Manfred: Loneliness is something everyone experiences at different stages of life, often as a deeply personal pain despite being a universal experience. Do you believe that moments of shared vulnerability in friendships can help combat loneliness? What are your thoughts on the relationship between loneliness and friendship?  

William: Yeah, absolutely. I think friendship is a balm for the soul—100%. I definitely believe it helps combat loneliness, though I don’t think it solves everything. Loneliness, in some ways, feels like a necessary part of being human. I think those moments of solitude can uncover things about ourselves that we might not discover otherwise.  

But when it comes to friendship, it ties back to listening and being heard. When someone truly hears us, when they see us for who we are, that feels like medicine for the soul. Friendship combats loneliness by allowing us to share ourselves with others and to feel connected in a way that’s deeply affirming. And when we reciprocate that, it becomes a shared experience that has the power to heal.

Manfred: Has there been a moment in your life when you experienced a deep sense of loneliness?  

William: I’ve actually experienced loneliness quite a lot in my life. It’s something that changes as we grow older. As we age, loneliness takes on different forms. There are expectations we have when we’re younger—about what life should look like—that we eventually have to grieve when things don’t unfold the way we envisioned. That kind of realization can bring its own unique loneliness.  

I’m not afraid of loneliness anymore, though I certainly wouldn’t want to be lonely forever. There’s a difference between the kind of loneliness we can grow from and deeper loneliness that leads to depression—that’s a different, much harder experience. But where I am now, I see loneliness as something I can move through, something that can coexist with joy and connection. And of course, friendship is an incredible balm for the soul in those moments.

Manfred: You’re a graphic designer and artist, and art has been an important part of your life. How has your artistic journey evolved over the past fifteen or sixteen years, and how do you see art as a tool for building bridges across cultures, friendships, and relationships?  

William: Visual design has been a skill that came naturally to me—it’s something I’ve honed over the years and used as a creative outlet. But when I think about my artistic journey, I realize that my creativity has always been bigger than just one medium. I’ve dabbled in many forms of expression, whether it’s photography, music (which was my first love), or visual design. Each of these outlets has served a different purpose in helping me connect with others and process the world around me.  

Art, for me, is inherently communal. For instance, being part of the LGBTQ+ choir was an amazing way to build community. We were creating something together, expressing emotions, and telling stories that resonated on a deeply human level. Photography is another example—when I collaborate with someone on a project, it’s more than just taking pictures; it’s about creating something meaningful together, forming bonds through shared experiences.  

What I love most about art is its ability to take something abstract—an emotion, a thought, or an experience—and make it tangible, something others can see, hear, or feel. It’s a way of saying, “This is what I’m feeling, and I want to share it with you.” That’s where art becomes a universal language.  

The most powerful thing about art is its ability to transcend cultural and geographic boundaries. Whether it’s a piece of music, a photograph, or a design, art taps into universal emotions. A song, for example, can evoke the same feelings in someone in the U.S. as it does in someone in a completely different part of the world. It’s a shared experience that reminds us of our common humanity.  

Right now, I’m rediscovering some of my creative outlets like photography and music, and it’s been a wonderful way to connect with people. Art provides a shared space for dialogue and understanding. I absolutely believe that art is a powerful tool for bringing people together, for building community, and for fostering understanding across differences. 

William Matheny’s Senior Thesis Exhibition (Part 5 of a 12 piece silk screen installation): PNCA (2011). Photo courtesy of William Matheny. / Exposición de la tesis de licenciatura de William Matheny (Parte 5 de una instalación de 12 piezas de serigrafía): PNCA (2011).Fotografía cortesía de William Matheny.

Manfred: What’s a good or bad memory of friendship that comes to mind for you?

William: One great memory that stands out to me is when we went to see Sarah McLachlan in Bend, Oregon. That was such a good time! We were surrounded by a lot of white folks, but we were just living it up and having a blast together. It was freezing cold, and we ended up drinking a lot of liquor just to stay warm—it was hilarious and so much fun.  

Another favorite memory is when you first moved here, and we used to hang out at my place every Thursday evening. We’d listen to the same playlist every time, starting with Regina Spektor, throwing in some Ani DiFranco, Tori Amos and even sneaking in a little Taylor Swift. It became this beautiful tradition that I’ll always treasure.  

And you know what else I love? Taking trips with friends from other places. Seeing the area through their eyes makes it feel new again, like when we explored different parts of Oregon together. Those moments, those adventures—those are the ones I’ll always remember fondly.

Manfred: What do you think our friendship says about the broader human experience?  

William: I think our friendship is a perfect encapsulation of everything we’ve been talking about. It shows that as human beings, we’re deeply capable of connection—regardless of where we come from.  

Honestly, I don’t subscribe to all the divisive narratives happening right now, especially in the U.S., where there’s so much emphasis on labeling people by their origin. Where we come from is something we can’t control, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the character of a person. I don’t understand how anyone could look at another person and reduce them to just that one aspect of their identity.  

Our friendship is proof that coming from different places isn’t something that divides us—it’s actually something that connects us. It’s a beautiful thing that broadens our minds and forces us to grow.To me, it’s a testament to how life is made better by diversity. Our friendship reminds me how wonderful life can be when we embrace all those differences as strengths rather than barriers. 

Manfred: What’s something you’ll remember about all these years of friendship?  

William: I think what I’d hold onto the most is personal—it’s about you and the unique bond we share. It feels like we’ve truly seen each other in ways that go beyond words, and I’ll always treasure that.  

Honestly, being your friend has felt like we’ve known each other forever, like we’re family in some cosmic way. You feel like a brother to me, like we’ve been connected in some other lifetime or through some unexplainable force. I can’t imagine my life without having known you, and that’s such a powerful thing to carry forward.  

Every friendship plants a seed of hope in us. Hope that we’ll be seen, loved, and understood—not just once, but over and over again. Our friendship has been a gift in that way. It’s not just the joy of being loved and understood but also the reassurance that those moments of connection can’t be taken away.  

The way we’ve experienced and understood each other is entirely unique. No one else will see me the way you have, and no one else will see you the way I do. That’s what makes it so special.  

We often talk about the concept of chosen family in the LGBTQ+ community, and after all these years, I know that’s what we are. It’s incredible that someone from Costa Rica and someone from Mississippi could form such a deep connection, but here we are. At this point in our lives, you are my chosen family, and I want to carry that with me until my last day on this earth.  

Thank you, Manfred, for being that person in my life.

William’s self portrait (2025). Photo courtesy of William Matheny. / Autorretrato de William (2025). Fotografía cortesía de William Matheny.

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William Matheny (He/him) is a visual designer and artist living in Portland, Oregon by way of South Mississippi. He has a BFA in Communication Design from the Pacific Northwest College of Art and 11+ years of print and visual design experience. When he isn’t working as a visual design lead as part of Nike’s greater Innovation Team, he enjoys hiking throughout the Pacific Northwest, taking photos with his Fujifilm X-T50, or studying music.

Manfred Parrales (He/his) is a multidisciplinary Latin artist whose practice bridges design, art history, social practice art, video, and community building. With a strong foundation in art history and visual communication, he integrates diverse media and collaborative methodologies into his work, positioning art as a vehicle for collective dialogue rather than individual expression.

His work reflects a commitment to social practice art, video, education, and research, exploring themes and projects that address nostalgia, transition, loneliness, memory, and identity. His professional trajectory has led him across Latin America and the United States, where he has gained extensive experience in museum curation, community institutions,education, tech companies, video production and video art.

He holds a BFA in Art History from University of Costa Rica, studies in Graphic Design from University of Costa Rica and a MFA in Contemporary Art Practice: Art and Social Practice from Portland State University.