Sample conversation:
“Oh, you just moved here? That’s cool. Where’re you moving here from?”
(I dunno, the world?!) “Welllllll… I’m from Minnesota…” (voice trails off, unsure if willing to continue down this conversation path, for the sake of question-asker)
If only there were simple answers to the questions of my life, it would at least make introductory conversations go faster. And people wouldn’t assume I one of the many homeless people of the world that’s migrated here. That’s sorta true, though. Until recently.
Apt B102. That’s where I live now. The lease proves it. One mile from somewhere fun to run, in at least two directions, a ten minute bus ride from downtown Seattle (or a four mile fun run, whichever), and smack dab in between two cool neighborhoods jammed full of fun restaurants and shops. So for the next 12 months at least, unless I choose to break lease, this is the place to come visit me!
The one, no two, bad things about it? They don’t allow pets. Anymore. The lady two doors down has a dog. TORTURE, plain torture. So I’ll have to wait a bit longer for my little fur ball to romp around on my carpet. Oh yeah, and the second? Ground floor means I can’t wander around scantily clad with the blinds open. Dang, and that’s always one good reason for living alone.
I’m not sure too many people end up moving to a new city on a whim, without an inkling of a plan, much less choose said city based on proximity to the city of failed plan. I wasn’t even convinced of this quasi-plan literally until the moment I signed the lease.
My life is random, I admit it. It never used to be this way. I used to have a five year plan ready at all times. Only just a couple weeks ago when moving day consisted of plunking two suitcases (one large, one small), a couple grocery bags, my camera bag, and my handbag into B102 was I able to have a plan for the next WEEK much less next month, and we’re not even going so far as to think about FIVE YEARS down the road right now.
After a week of a (borrowed) air mattress being my bum’s only resting place, I rented a cargo van and ran around the state of Washington and even up to the province of BC gathering and buying much STUFF. I love to hate it already. I mean, it’s lovely furniture, the first I’ve ever bought of my own in my life, but it weighs so much and means it’s just that much harder to get up and go. Not that I really want to pick up and go for more than a weekend at this point. But still.
I’m still warming up to the idea of B102 and Seattle being my home for this next span of time and for some reason I’ve even kind of resisting it. This ambivalence is rather unnerving.
I mean, I’m really excited about the neighborhood I live in, one couldn’t ask for better running weather, and I’m enjoying the music scene already. Not to mention the warm fuzzies I get thinking about living so near to my dear lovely Seattleite friends again, and moving our hips to the rhythm of Black Eyed Peas in darkened living rooms in the middle of the night to celebrate unmentionable milestone birthdays (be sure to call up Zach Rupp, recent winner of the party planner of the year award, for your next party time pleasure).
But maybe it’s just I’ve grown accustomed to roaming without roots and now putting down those roots doesn’t feel exactly like I expected it to.
Maybe there’s some sense in this madness somewhere. Time will tell.
If every city has a word, as Liz Gilbert discusses in her book Eat Pray Love, then Seattle’s word may well be coffee. Upon which it follows that I belong here as I’m well on my way to joining the throngs of pretentious coffee snobs amidst the thousands of delicious coffeeshops within a five mile radius. That’s not even counting Starbucks.
Listen to me trying to convince myself I’m where I should be. :) As if there’s even right answer to that question.
Now for a job… and some visitors! Get your lovely lil faces out here to me! I’ll make you dinner. Or order us take out from my favorite restaurant in the world (which, considering, is saying a fair amount), Cedar’s on Brooklyn Indian and Mediterranean (though I largely tend to focus on the Indian part of things) restaurant. Or if it’s sunny, like it’s been for the past two weeks, rent us a row boat on Lake Union. Or, if you insist, take you down to Pike Place market for some fish throwing sighting. Just not on a Saturday, please.