I think Seattle is a stressed city. Like, everybody’s worried about something. The "Land Use Action" notices that seem to be popping up everywhere and always signal yet another condo building in place of a historic home. The environment. Rising rent prices. Traffic getting worse. Donald Trump. Amazon changing even more of the cityscape. The weather. Pursuit of better jobs, more success, more days off, enough money to put food on the table. It is a young city, a city of transients and transplants, a city caught in between the drive for financial success and the urge to get out into the mountains and have a day off. It is a city where the hunger of the homeless is matched by the high cost of coffee; and where the $15 minimum wage is not even close to a living wage. It is a rapidly changing city. There are more building cranes in the cityscape than in any other US city. There is so much to love about Seattle, but I do find I’m more stressed being here. I feel the push of the city rushing forward, and the pull of those who don’t want things to change too quickly. I too see new buildings going up and think “everything’s changing.” And not all change is bad; gentrification has made some neighborhoods safer and brought in businesses. But not all change is good either, and when change is primarily driven by money, it will be voracious; it will never be satisfied. Already I feel myself more driven by success, more insecure about my accomplishments, more anxious about change than I have ever been before. But I don't want to be driven by the desires of this city, controlled by its mores, or in pursuit of its successes. The challenge is how to enter in to the life of the city while holding myself - my heart - separate; letting God hold my heart and set a different standard of success. As a newcomer in this city, I'm still trying to make sense of Seattle culture, what the people and city are like. This is the first of an ongoing series on my observations of the city. I'm not trying to define anyone, just make sense of what I'm seeing and experiencing.
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We are living in the Capitol Hill neighborhood, but whatever the reputation it might have for a bustling bar scene and loud nights, this isn't it. We are on a quiet street with historic homes and apartment buildings; near a whole bunch of coffee shops that all close before 8. There isn't really a nightlife in this part of Seattle; which is perfect. I like to leave my windows open at night but am freaked out by strange noises. Parking is a bear, but not as large or growly a bear as if we were trying to park closer to downtown. It’s usually a matter of circling the block a few times, and thanking God that in his providence he caused us to buy a postage-stamp sized car long before we ever knew we’d be moving to Seattle (I know that sounds facetious, but I'm actually being totally serious).
We are within an easy downhill walk from downtown Seattle (walking uphill on the way back is a different story). But an even better walk is the two blocks to 15th Ave, where there are shops and restaurants, many of which I will be featuring on this blog in the coming months. We are an easy walk to church as well; it was important to us in coming here that we be part of a “neighborhood church”—somewhere that is invested in our community and with whom we could serve our neighborhood. How do you choose a place to live? Obviously some of that is based on availability, but what are your priorities? What do you want to be close to, and what sort of neighborhood makes you feel most at home? Sugar Plum is a little ice cream shop on 15th Ave that specializes in vegan ice cream and unusual flavors. First impressions: Cute little shop, friendly staff, really interesting selections of house-made ice-cream, all of which was vegan. We ordered the Oat Milk Grilled Peach with Thyme ice-cream, which was delicious. It wasn’t super creamy, had a slightly icy texture, but had a really good flavor and blend and the right fruit-to-cream ratio. Price: $4.50 for a rather large “small” bowl that we split. Special diet friendliness: Unless your kryptonite is sugar, this place has you covered. They use mostly oat milk, but their sorbet doesn’t use any type of milk at all. There are also gluten free cone options available, and some of their other sweets are gluten free as well. Seating: There’s plenty of outdoor seating with some benches around the front door, but it’s been too cold for people to really gather. There’s also a couple stools inside but it’s not the kind of place where you would bring a laptop and work or anything. Other options: There is a soft-serve that we didn’t try, and also sorbet and sherbet options I've spend the last four months (or longer) trolling apartmenttherapy.com and ikea and urban outfitters, trying to plan out my new apartment before I have any idea what it looks like. This is probably the result of living in temporary housing for so long; decorating in my mind has had to be the poor substitute for actually getting my hands dirty.
I wanted to share my idea boards before I share what apartment looks like so that we can all compare the ideal with the reality. We got in late Monday, four days of driving; I walked around my new neighborhood and saw this:
Seattle is a so-called sanctuary city, one that will not allow it's police to inquire about people's legal status in an effort make them feel comfortable talking to the police without fear of deportation President Trump has recently promised to cut federal funding to sanctuary cities like Seattle.
How should we think about issues like this? And we need to think about them. I find it all too easy to say, "I'm a citizen, so it's not my problem," and to imagine that the issues that don't directly affect me are not worth my time. Or to prioritize my own safety and security over the safety of others.
Right now, I’m living by a lakeside in rural Georgia while E is training at his new job, in what feels (to me) incredibly remote, along a highway, where I cannot walk to a grocery store or coffee shop, surrounded by desolate trees shorn of leaves. It is the kind of place where I would set a murder mystery; the body, covered with dead leaves, discovered off the earth-packed trail to the water, or in one of the winterized boats at the marina. The quiet is indescribable. Even when I can hear my neighbors talking through the walls, there is something so incredibly still about this place; a heavy, lingering silence. It is temporary. A resting place or halting ground between stations. In three months, we will be across the country, in a city, with our own stuff; the noise of traffic and late-night drunks, the stress of apartment hunting, the fun of finding new places where we can become locals. So how do I settle in here, with a pair of suitcases and a dog into an apartment full of someone else's things; trying to get to know neighbors I will not likely see again. It is a strange feeling. It always takes me time to get to know people. What am I supposed to do with a weird interlude to my life? How can I make use of time that feels like wasted time? And yet, the purpose God has for me in being here is bigger than what I would plan for myself. What I see as wasted time, he has ordained as an opportunity to meet and minister to my neighbors; to rest from the frenetic pace of packing and preparing our house to sell; to focus undistracted on work and writing; to be involved in and ministered to by a thriving church; to breathe. |