A View Across the Sound
So I'm sitting here in Seattle, in a hotel room that overlooks Lake Union. It's not the kind of day you usually think of in Seattle. The sky is blue, the sun is shining and the fluffy white clouds are concentrated mostly on the horizon. They are white, not gray. It's the kind of day--and the kind of view--that makes you jealous of a life you haven't chosen.
I was here a few weeks ago for work. I came out early and spent a day visiting with an old friend from my high school days and his girlfriend. They both seemed so comfortable, so relaxed... so integrated into a city that teems with laid-back ruggedness and outdoor sensibilities. It fit them. Or perhaps they fit it in the first place? I suppose it's like the chicken-and-egg theory: you never really know if your personality was meant for an environment or if it evolved because of it.
Apparently, in my friend's case, I foretold he was meant to be here.
"Do you remember?" he said. "When we were in high school, you always told me you could see me here, in the Pacific Northwest." I didn't remember, but it sounded like something I would have said. And who knows--if he's carried that memory this long (12 or so years), who knows what subconscious role it played in driving him here. (Not unlike the evil palm reader I encountered at a tender age of 23 who predicted I would marry a tall man with dark hair. I've had a weird obsession with dark-haired men ever since.)
I guess the point is that I seem to be much better at helping others see where they fit than figuring out where I belong myself. DC didn't quite feel right to me for whatever reason. Maybe it's because I was living in the suburbs and never got to truly live the city. Maybe it's because I hated talking about politics, and was getting tired of listening to others argue about it. Maybe it's because it was too "East Coast," where people don't have the friendly Midwestern demeanor I had grown up with.
But Chicago didn't seem to fit, either. Granted, living there while in school is a completely alternate universe: you have no life, so how can you be expected to enjoy the environment around you? I suppose I also partially (and perhaps unfairly) blame my relationship at the time. When I learned that he was unwilling to relocate from the place where he felt comfortable and settled, I felt guilty for contemplating a courtship with any other city that would effectively spell demise for us. (In the end, that proved to be the least of our issues. I might have been better off to forge a careless affair with the Windy City.)
And now I call Dallas my home. An expansive city with abundant sunshine but lacking in personality. A full year later, I am still struggling to find my niche--a social circle, extracurricular activities, things to do other than eat and shop. I could be premature in saying this, but I don't think it fits, either.
So instead I travel for work to cities all across the country, trying them on as one would evaluate a pair of pants. Is it beautiful? Do I look good in it? Are the people friendly? What's the vibe of the city? Are there fun things to do?
And if the answers are yes, yes, yes, high energy, yes... what does that ultimately mean for me? Is getting a "sip test" of a city really the way to evaluate its livability, and how you might fit there? And would I honestly want to move yet again, go through all of the pain of acclimating to a new place and to new faces again??
I just received an email from an old friend in DC who had exciting news--he's been accepted into a prestigious business school in Geneva. One of the bonds we've shared together is our constant struggle to identify what our lives should mean. What we should be doing, where we should be, where we belong. And now he has a direction, one he seems incredibly passionate about. I'm thrilled for him. Yet there is a tiny part of me that's jealous for that momentum, for that anticipation of starting over and starting fresh, using a new city to help build a little more of your character and etch your personality even more firmly into your soul. For adventure.
But an adventurous spirit does not a pioneer make. So for the time being, I’ll continue looking for my place in tiny slices—in glimpses from hotel windows or in clinking glasses in busy restaurants.
Someday, I know the pants will fit.
I was here a few weeks ago for work. I came out early and spent a day visiting with an old friend from my high school days and his girlfriend. They both seemed so comfortable, so relaxed... so integrated into a city that teems with laid-back ruggedness and outdoor sensibilities. It fit them. Or perhaps they fit it in the first place? I suppose it's like the chicken-and-egg theory: you never really know if your personality was meant for an environment or if it evolved because of it.
Apparently, in my friend's case, I foretold he was meant to be here.
"Do you remember?" he said. "When we were in high school, you always told me you could see me here, in the Pacific Northwest." I didn't remember, but it sounded like something I would have said. And who knows--if he's carried that memory this long (12 or so years), who knows what subconscious role it played in driving him here. (Not unlike the evil palm reader I encountered at a tender age of 23 who predicted I would marry a tall man with dark hair. I've had a weird obsession with dark-haired men ever since.)
I guess the point is that I seem to be much better at helping others see where they fit than figuring out where I belong myself. DC didn't quite feel right to me for whatever reason. Maybe it's because I was living in the suburbs and never got to truly live the city. Maybe it's because I hated talking about politics, and was getting tired of listening to others argue about it. Maybe it's because it was too "East Coast," where people don't have the friendly Midwestern demeanor I had grown up with.
But Chicago didn't seem to fit, either. Granted, living there while in school is a completely alternate universe: you have no life, so how can you be expected to enjoy the environment around you? I suppose I also partially (and perhaps unfairly) blame my relationship at the time. When I learned that he was unwilling to relocate from the place where he felt comfortable and settled, I felt guilty for contemplating a courtship with any other city that would effectively spell demise for us. (In the end, that proved to be the least of our issues. I might have been better off to forge a careless affair with the Windy City.)
And now I call Dallas my home. An expansive city with abundant sunshine but lacking in personality. A full year later, I am still struggling to find my niche--a social circle, extracurricular activities, things to do other than eat and shop. I could be premature in saying this, but I don't think it fits, either.
So instead I travel for work to cities all across the country, trying them on as one would evaluate a pair of pants. Is it beautiful? Do I look good in it? Are the people friendly? What's the vibe of the city? Are there fun things to do?
And if the answers are yes, yes, yes, high energy, yes... what does that ultimately mean for me? Is getting a "sip test" of a city really the way to evaluate its livability, and how you might fit there? And would I honestly want to move yet again, go through all of the pain of acclimating to a new place and to new faces again??
I just received an email from an old friend in DC who had exciting news--he's been accepted into a prestigious business school in Geneva. One of the bonds we've shared together is our constant struggle to identify what our lives should mean. What we should be doing, where we should be, where we belong. And now he has a direction, one he seems incredibly passionate about. I'm thrilled for him. Yet there is a tiny part of me that's jealous for that momentum, for that anticipation of starting over and starting fresh, using a new city to help build a little more of your character and etch your personality even more firmly into your soul. For adventure.
But an adventurous spirit does not a pioneer make. So for the time being, I’ll continue looking for my place in tiny slices—in glimpses from hotel windows or in clinking glasses in busy restaurants.
Someday, I know the pants will fit.
