So as the move to Seattle becomes more and more imminent (and by imminent I mean about 6 months away) - I find that I have to remind myself more and more frequently that this is what I want. What I’ve been wanting. The answer to coastal fatigue - move home. Home is Seattle, or at least, that’s the closest viable city to the large amorphous area I call home. So if I want to quit switching coasts every time I need to see someone important to me, I have to consolidate, I have to move out there. And I couldn’t ask for better - I mean, Liz wants to come with me, it’s a tier 1/top 30 school, I love Seattle, I already have a ton of friends there, both my parents will be close by and they’re both happy with the decision (the last time I could say that? can’t remember.) - there’s nothing to stop me.
Except, I mean, that I love DC. Which is ridiculous really because I hate DC. But that’s the problem with this city. That you can’t really love it without really hating it, and you can’t really hate it without really loving it. And now I have a ton of friends here too… actually my first real adult friends… who I’m going to have to leave when the academic centrifuge picks up again and spins us all around and away from each other.
You know this was the first place I ever lived as an adult, on my own, without the bubble of a dorm/school/whatever to protect me. I moved here in the summer of 06 without ever having set foot in the city, drove down the day after I graduated college, moved into an apartment I’d never seen, said goodbye to my dad and friends, and forced myself to get a job/internship and forge a life here. I’d spent the six or so months before that hearing from a fairly nasty influence in my life that I didn’t stand a chance at surviving on my own in the city, and I had a huge chip on my shoulder and something to prove, and I think without even realizing it, I really did. And dammit, I made this place my home.
So now the scary thing is, that for the first time ever in my life (and I know this is part of that whole “Growing Up” checklist) - I have a place that I have chosen (not a place I just kinda landed) that I have made my home. A place that every time it’s quiet, some little voice in my head whispers, I could live here.
I’ve always called Seattle my home. Which is strange I know since the truth is I’ve never actually lived there (but home, really, is just as constructed as any other part of our identities, so I might as well get to choose where I say it is) - but for the first time (and I haven’t stayed anywhere for more than 4 years since I was 11, I’m 23 now) - I found myself missing DC when I was home in Seattle for December. I’ve never missed another place from Seattle. I always felt at home there, whole.
As much as I think it would piss my grandmother off to hear me say this (she thinks gypsies steal babies and replace them with demons) - I have a gypsy heart. I’m allergic to staying in one place. And now the world (and me, too) threw all these obstacles up in front of me just as the choice that I thought would be the easiest of all is looming in front of me.
I mean I think I know what choice I’ll make in the end. But I just need to underscore the bitter irony here, that the easiest choice of all - the choice to go home after all these years of wandering - is turning out to be the hardest choice I’ve ever made.
Currently listening: Carsie Blanton - Ain’t So Green
