3+ Years and Counting...

If you're anything like me (and if you are, you should seriously consider changing everything about yourself), occasionally you find yourself on a weekend night too tired to spend time with peers drinking and fucking the night away, but instead of being smart and deciding to go to bed, or read a damn book, you reflect on the inane minutiae around you. I managed to ignore a few text messages because I was too caught up pondering the essence of my desk lamp, but then it dawned on me; holy hell, I've somehow lived in this city for over three years. It feels like, one, at the most, but...damn.

I'm coping like most displaced east-coasters do out here; constantly telling yourself "hey, at least it's not snowing" while crying into your coffee as you look out the window to the see the umpteenth day of drizzle in a row. I bitch like most displaced east-coasters at the passive-aggressiveness of a native populace in Seattle that boldly claim to hold "liberal" values while harboring a surprising level of ignorance towards most minorities and failing miserably to enable enough light rail routes to steer us away from our evil, carbon-emitting automobiles. But, like most displaced east-coasters, I take solace in the abundance of Asian food, goofy shit sold in Capitol Hill boutiques, and the undeniable fact that, when the weather IS good, it is entirely impossible NOT to find something to do.

Have I learned anything? Found undeniable truths? Possibly; but I'm also coming to a larger understanding (which is hard to admit) that most likely, I came out here for the wrong reasons. I didn't run from anything, but I sure as shit never looked back as I sped westward, on some undefined journey under the misguided flag of "self-discovery". Sure, it's not fun to tread on the same ground, with the same friends at the same hangouts where the relationship with the love of your life sped off the freeway at 100mph and crashed into the ravine. But it wasn't her fault, and it wasn't mine, simply a case of "life happens".

Damn, really? There's no way I packed my shit and high-tailed it to the Pacific Northwest for that, right? Well, the fact is I can't think of any other specific reason. And, while I'm not literally beating myself up over this, I can't help but facepalm at the fact I've put significant distance and strain between family and friends for a reason I can't pinpoint. I'm okay here, but not nearly in love with the area enough to be fully satisfied and to make an honest effort to really make this place home. It's an odd state to find oneself where you feel that something is lacking, yet you're not nearly restless enough to light a fire under your ass and do something about it.

On the plus side, I have a better grasp of my own morals, my own beliefs, and my own existence because, let's face it; for 2/3 of the year here, you have to duck into a coffee shop to save yourself from a drenching, and do a lot of thinking. I'm very good at thinking...could improve on the follow-through of said thoughts and ideas, but goddamn I can drum up a thought bubble that could kick your thought bubble's ass. And, surprisingly, said thought bubbles are not just about sex and "shit, did I leave the gas light on?" I'm talking like...thoughts...here. Deep ones. Thoughts that can move mountains and dismantle Iran's nuclear program.

So, here's to you, Seattle, for being an "alright" city that makes me think a lot. You're a real pal.