Back in Seattle

For four years, I carried a tired Moleskine notebook with me. Daily, I would flip through its pages, jotting notes for story ideas, and planning content for my website. As a writer, this notebook is my whole world. In reality, it might be my most prized possession.

In November of 2017, I was two months into calling myself a resident of Los Angeles, California. After a morning of fighting traffic and driving through Skid Row to my nonprofit job where I raised money for a permanent supportive housing provider, I found myself once again beginning life in a new city. This meant trying to create a social network for me, finding space to explore my passions, building opportunities to get involved, and making room for my relationship to flourish. On this particular morning, I was spending a lot of energy comparing my new home to the former.

Erasing the challenges and only remembering the silver linings, I scribbled the following notes:

1. Here felt like home

2. This place changed me for the better

3. I feel something deep within me beckoning me back to the Pacific Northwest

4. It will not be long before I call her valleys, mountains, trees, water, and cities home.

5. I feel compelled to work on behalf of her people.

6. I feel like making this my forever home.

These notes were documented, but a proper essay was never published. The comparisons never ceased, but I soon allowed both the good and bad of my new home to wash over me.

From November of 2017 to March of 2020, I considered myself open to the experience. I grew to tolerate Los Angeles traffic as an unchangeable way of life. My time spent on Skid Row is well documented, but it soon gave way to work ending isolation for my homeless neighbors in Hollywood (still the best job I have ever had). Los Angeles became home. I learned about her neighborhoods. Its pulse began to match my own. Its essence soon began to reflect who I am as a person. I was not changing Los Angeles and it was not changing me. Instead, we were writing parallel stories that interweaved themselves with individual pieces of yarn often indistinguishable from the other. My social network expanded. I found friends that brought out the truest version of myself. I laughed and laughed with them. I may never laugh like that again. I rediscovered my passions and found communities for myself. I fell deeply in love with film, hiking, travel, and my authentic self. I fell in love with mental health work and using my talents to solve my community’s homeless crisis.

The person who originally scribbled those notes into a worn, overly stickered, black notebook had not fundamentally changed. He still loved Seattle dearly and would always remember it fondly. I would often find myself holding onto the best versions of the Emerald City. Publically or silently, when faced with daunting challenges, Seattle would offer escape or refuge, even if those things could only be found in the recesses of my mind or in the flickering light of late-night social media post.

I knew I wanted Los Angeles to be home for longer than the current runway would allow. My relationship would not survive LA. So, a year into our grand experiment, my partner returned to his favorite place in the world. A year from chasing a dream of mine, I remained behind with a promise to once again find myself standing next to his side.

With miles between us, there were nights when it was only me and LA. Driving 101, from downtown to North Hollywood, I found myself falling deeply in love with the city. I could feel myself being torn into two distinct pieces. One wanted to selfishly remain. The other wanted to do the first unselfish thing in my adult life and make life whole for my partner. As the days marched on like dutiful ants, I treasured every experience afforded me. I became emboldened in my work, purpose-driven in my friendships, and a collector of experiences. I was a kid from Frederick, Oklahoma, a town of 4,500 people, living in Los Angeles. I found myself bound and determined to never forget this experience.

Soon, I would find myself driving away from Los Angeles for the final time. The sense of loss was overshadowed by the prospect of miles to hike via the Pacific Crest Trail. This tale is also well documented, but the depression of being forced off the trail due to the pandemic is not. What is also missing from the story is how I have struggled since returning to Seattle.

While it isn’t fair to judge Seattle based on the events of the past year, I can’t help myself. I know this isn’t Seattle. This is pandemic Seattle and pandemic Seattle offers friendships strained by an abundance of caution. Pandemic Seattle offers few social outlets, fewer experiences to collect, and even less meaningful work. In the chaos, I stood trying to love a city that could not present the best version of itself, wrestling with personal disappointments, all the while attempting and failing at comparisons. As the days marched on like dutiful ants, Seattle felt like settling. I wasn’t comfortable holding that space.

Now, there is light at the end of the tunnel. What impressed me about Seattle during our initial courtship is beginning to show itself. A path toward meaningful work seems apparent. My single-serving Seattle friends seem eager to reconnect. I see opportunities to explore my passions and a calling for a deeper connection to my community. My relationship is stronger than ever.

But until these words are read, Brandon will have had no sense of my longing. I assume my love for Los Angeles and a desire to return will ring as a surprise. While I have presented clues by speaking of the friends I left behind, the loss of a true best friend in Seattle, and the loneliness I feel here, I assume much of what I have written here will be a shock to the system. Maybe not.

Still, these words are my truth. They are a partial examination of a much deeper story waiting to be pondered, written, and understood. On the blank pages ahead, my Seattle story can change for the better. This can become home once again. Perhaps the next words to be written will be constructed with paragraphs of praise and pride. For all my consternation, I am open to writing that story.

Be good to each other,

Nathan