September 3rd marked my third year of living in Seattle.
As is my habit, I completely forgot about it.
Much of the time, I really hate living here.
Here’s what happened this year that made things worse.
- My coworker died in August after being pinned by an SUV
- A stranger stole my purse in July; while I (thankfully) got all my stuff back, I now trust absolutely no one
- The Methodist denomination voted against LGBTQIA+ inclusion
- As a result, my church will likely leave the denomination
- I ended a romantic relationship
- A close friend decided to leave the country
To combat these things, I’m trying to practice gratitude.
Here’s what happened that made my year in Seattle more bearable:
- I came out and the world didn’t end
- I went mostly vegan and I feel healthier
- I cook and bake more often than I did as an omnivore
- I upped my fiber intake and started a personalized vitamin regimen
- I increased my involvement in the improv community
- I made hilarious friends who love riffs, performance, and vegan food
- I spent more time with my fantastic theater buddies watching classic films and experimental plays
- Speaking of, I finally watched Hedwig and the Angry Inch and I loved it
- In general, I socialize quite a bit more
- I turned out to be a pretty decent knitter
- I got a raise at work, which REALLY helped me out financially
- I learned some anxiety-reduction strategies that ACTUALLY HELP
- I cried my eyes out reading my new favorite book Red, White, and Royal Blue
- I started watching horror movies after years of religious paranoia…and discovered my new favorite genre
- I can talk semi-knowledgeably about BASEBALL!? Who am I!?
- I see my parents semi-frequently
- I write all the time
- I will (hopefully) be moving to a different neighborhood later this fall
When I think about the above list, living here doesn’t seem so bad.
Daily life requires balancing two truths:
- I would like to leave Seattle in the future (for some far-off shore like…Oregon)
- I love the community I’ve built here
I’m doing my best.
Here’s to three years in this eternally gray, overpriced, tech-obsessed, queer-friendly artist’s paradise.
And here’s to as many more years as I can stand.
Narrative Paradise 