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You can never go home again

1 Aug

 

 

Life post the photography project has been pretty great. It was nice to not have to take pictures and to not stress about what I was doing each day and having to write about it. A pleasant vacation if you will. But I still miss blogging and using this as an outlet to keep in touch with people. So let me tell you all about my lovely trip to Seattle!

When I decided to stay in New York, it wasn’t because I wanted to live here forever or that I was planning on making my home here. I always have intended to leave. But at that point in April, I was generally unwell. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, every “-ally” was off kilter. I didn’t want to add the additional stress of a move on top of that. Plus I felt like I was running away from my problems. I wanted to stay here, get well, and turn the story around. I wasn’t going to let New York be a stained memory of a failed relationship. BUT, I miss my Seattle, and it was like a song stuck in my head. Almost every day, I would have a pang of longing to be back in her rainy glory.

So despite being dead-broke, I delved into my savings and bought the tickets for a 10-day stay. I NEEDED a vacation in the worst way possible. I hadn’t had a break in working in months, and I had been through a lot since moving here. I also wanted to secretly test the waters to see if I could really possibly enjoy life in Seattle again, if it was really the city for me.

My trip was perfect. I was beaming from beginning to end, and I had forgotten just how many things I missed. After I dropped my stuff off at my friend Zach’s house, Zach, Liv, and I headed to Lighthouse Coffee in Frelard (Is that the correct term? I’m so out of the loop.) We sat outside in the 60-degree breeze on a bench that looked out over the rolling hills that spill down to Lake Union. I took a sip of my black coffee and pretty much shivered from the experience. “Oh yeah,” I thought to myself. “This is what coffee really tastes like, pure heaven.” None of this $1 deli bullshit, but real full flavored brew. I almost had my mind made up then and there. Yup, I’ve gotta have this in my life every morning.

I went to two Mariner’s games while I was home. Before the first one, as we walked that long stretch of alley road up to the stadium, as soon as we saw my SafeCo, Brett said, “There’s your home.” He was right. I was like a little kid getting ready to go to the zoo. I couldn’t stop fidgeting and saying, “I’m so excited. I’m so excited!” I love that team in a way I’ve never loved anything else. I’m there with them through and through, and all they have to do is keep playing games, and you know what, I’ll just keep on loving them. It’s comforting to have that.

My old friends in Seattle can’t be beat. My friend Stu always takes me on a fancy “date” every time I visit. This time was no exception. I was stuffed from the meal, but he asked for the dessert menu anyways. Without consulting me, he ordered three. Whatta guy!

The night before a group of us were hanging out at a local bar. For my friend Kendra’s birthday, she had bought a bunch of Ring Pops. It was one in the morning, and we were all slightly drunk, just having fun, when Kendra said, “They should make Toe Ring Pops….for sluts.” Was it the timing? Was it the alcohol? Was it just being jovial with friends? I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe.

After a particularly lovely day of breakfast with an old friend, walking around Greenlake, eating Lavendar Honey ice cream from Molly Moon’s, playing catch with my potential-roommates Zach and Travis (not that one), playing croquet, watching an M’s game at my favorite bar and getting free drinks from my favorite bartender, my other potential roommate, Rory, gave me a ride home on the back of his scooter. I had to wear his bulky helmet, and the scooter only goes about 20 miles an hour. But halfway home, he turned around and told me to hold on tighter, to not be “shy about safety.” I giggled as I tightened my grip and watched the green streets of Seattle pass me by. “This was the best day ever,” I thought to myself.

My last day in Seattle, we ate at Ivar’s in Northlake. That’s okay if you don’t know where that is. I’ll show you!

This was our view as we dined. Weather-wise: perfect. So afterward we went to Gasworks park to play catch, fly kites,and lay in the sun. Someone in my group asked me if I knew that it was over 100 degrees in New York and that people were actually dying. I looked up at the sea planes and kites sharing the air space above my beach blanket and realized how much I just wanted to stay.

At the airport the next morning, I met up with my aforementioned favorite bartender, David, who I had also briefly dated in the months preceding my move to Reno. He is a great guy who I respect. He’s about 15 years older than me and I’ve always found him to be wise and charming. He happened to also have a 7am flight, and it was also in the same terminal. After trudging through security and grabbing some crappy airport breakfast, we found an empty area of the terminal where we sat down and caught up. Eventually, he asked me what no one else in Seattle had gotten around to.

“So,when are you going to move back here?” we both laughed, knowing that he was only half-joking.
“I wish it were that easy. I don’t know if I can just pick up again and move all the way out here. But I’ve missed this place for two years now.”
“I had an ex-girlfriend who moved to New York and ended up living there for three years. She had a lot of pride, and she wanted to prove to herself and everyone that she loved it and that she could make it. But she was absolutely miserable. She ended up moving back here and kicking herself for staying there for so long.”
“I’m not miserable in New York, but I’m nowhere near as happy as I am when I’m here.”
“Just make sure you are staying for the right reasons, not for your pride or for what you think other people expect of you.”
“I can’t just pack up everything and abandon my life there because it would make me happier.”
“But there’s a lot to be said for letting yourself find happiness.”

We talked until he pointed out that my plane was boarding. After a long hug, and vehement promises to try and stay in touch this time, he headed toward his gate, and I boarded my plane back to New York.

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One Response to “You can never go home again”

  1. Sisi August 2, 2011 at 5:18 pm #

    Frelard? Hehe I get it now. It was good to have seen you!

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