Sometimes, when I’m having a bad day or feeling particularly stagnant, I like to fantasize about living in Seattle. There’s something about that city that I love, though I have little actual reason to feel that way. After the Orioles, I’ve always rooted casually for the Mariners, dating back to the days of Ken Griffey Jr., Alex Rodriguez, and Randy Johnson. But it wasn’t until I visited Seattle, at the tail end of a two-week family vacation to Yellowstone and other national parks of the northwest, that I decided that I would like to live there.
While we were there, we went to a Mariners game. The team had a new star by then - Ichiro Suzuki – and was in the midst of a ridiculously successful, 100-some win season. They won the game my family attended, and I bought a Mariner’s t-shirt and a decorative flag. The next day, we had dinner at an Italian restaurant (where Kayla got scolded by our waitress for mixing food into her water, leading me to very maturely retaliate by blowing out all of the candles at the unoccupied tables as we were leaving). In the bathroom, a man commented on my Mariners shirt, saying something like, “they sure are having a great year, huh?”
But my love of Seattle isn’t really about sports. Rather, eager support of a successful home team is just part of what appeals to me so much about the spirit of the city. Everyone (except that waitress) was so friendly there. In some cities, tourists stick out. You can spot them in DC, ogling the Metro map, taking pictures with the monuments. And, for some reason, DC natives are not that nice to them. Granted, I try to help people who look lost, but who hasn’t had the urge to run over a segway tour in disgust? I’m sure that people could tell that we were tourists in Seattle, but no one treated us that way.
While there, we walked through the bustling Pike Place Market, visited the Rock ‘n Roll History Museum, posed for pictures with statues of pigs (think decorated Testudo’s for Maryland’s 150th), rode the monorail (unnecessarily), and watched an annual parade. We hiked some trails on nearby Mt. Rainier and enjoyed views of the Puget Sound and Lake Washington. Coming from oppressive DC humidity, we all appreciated the region’s mild summertime weather. Everyone liked Seattle. I, however, was the only one who wanted to pay $11 to go to the top of the Space Needle to take scenic photos. Unrelated: I was also the only one who a homeless woman told, “you’re a beautiful man, yes you are.”
Maybe I just claim to want to move to Seattle because I had such a good time there and it’s so far away – when I’m feeling stuck in life, moving across the country with a melodramatic flourish is kind of appealing. I don’t really know much about everyday life in the Emerald City, and the weather was uncharacteristically sunny during our vacation. But I’d like to believe that it’s more than just wishful thinking – that I was drawn by something legitimate while I was there.
Usually I can acknowledge that this whole fascination with Seattle is pretty frivolous. I love living in DC, and I’m not sure I could tear myself away from all of my local friends and family. But there are times when I think the only things holding me here are the practical, financial consequences of moving – finding a new job, a new place to live, and a way to lug my stuff 2,764 miles. And judging by the moods I’m sometimes in, if figuring out those details were easier, I’d probably be living on the west coast by now.
No comments:
Post a Comment