Seattle

I've learned to really like Seattle. For the longest time I missed being twenty minutes from a good hike, and being able to walk around at night, and the relatively congestion-free life I had in Bellingham. My first months in Seattle I thought the city might only have an angular, urban aesthetic punctuated with seasonal decorations. Seeing that Seattle's wildlife consists of renegade squirrels battling hordes of pigeons for McDonald's hamburgers depressed me. A bench on the sidewalk near them is three feet behind a sign that says "No Loitering." And every morning I was awakened either by a crackhead crying and carrying on about something or a group of religious zealots singing in chorus to protest the abortion clinic adjacent to the methadone clinic. I regarded all of this with the perspective of one who chooses to filter life through books and philosophies rather than as one who just lives and learns from experience and observation of live people, not characters or participants in a study. It's easy to think that you understand a group of people when you read studies of their commonalities in upbringing and personal circumstances. Liberal doctrine in my political science classes persuaded me that a homeless drug addict was really a victim. Being threatened daily by crackheads and robbed by a toothless man dressed in black made it hard to hang on to much sympathy at times. Every student of social sciences ought to be forced to view firsthand what the down-and-out are really experiencing. Living a year on this block was worth forty credits of sociology.

Once I adjusted to the infinitesimal daily distractions directly in front of me I began to look around. At some point I stopped feeling like a mouse in a shoebox. From the top of any hill a person can see Mt. Rainier- it dominates the skyline over the Rainier Valley like one imagines Mount Olympus shone over Greece. If you are stuck in traffic on Northbound 99 going over the viaduct you will be awarded a gorgeous sight to the West matched by no watercolor painter. At dusk the ribbon of sky over the Olympics shimmers an incandescent hue. Boats' lamps float like fireflies through glassy water. And all around the bay city lights dazzle like Japanese lanterns.

Here there is ALWAYS something to do. Here, when you help a stranger out you can really tell they appreciate it. Little old ladies get rich selling real estate. Indie theaters make it in every neighborhood. For the most part people are accepted without turning heads or causing whispered conversations in the corners of rooms.

I don't suppose I would want to live in the city forever, or at least not this city. For now, though, I guess it'll do.