My infatuation with Seattle began at an early age. I am a child of the 90s, and in the 90s Seattle was experiencing a cultural moment. Music, movies, clothes, technology, and the boundless beauty of the Pacific Northwest filled our screens and lured an endless sea of people westward. As a kid planted in front of a television, a seed was planted. Over the next twenty years, this seed would slowly grow, germinate, and spread. This infatuation would soon become an all-consuming thought. At an inflection point in my life, it would become impossible to ignore.  

Seattle was an escape and some place to begin again. In the fall of 2010, I decided to write a new story among the mountains, trees, and vistas of Seattle. Before arriving, my expectations were lofty. This place needed to serve as a baptismal. On the other end of this experience, I expected to find cleansing and redeeming waters. I longed to be born anew. 

In Oklahoma, on my last official day at work, a warning shot was fired across my bow. “I have a friend who just moved back to Oklahoma from Seattle. She had a really hard time making friends there.” Excited by the season of change and in possession of a rare ability to make friends anywhere, I shrugged off her tale of defeat. That will not be my story, I decided.  

From a one-bedroom apartment in Kent, my Pacific Northwest story started writing itself in the February rain of 2011. I counted myself among a gentrifying force reshaping the very fabric of this place. We came for opportunities and consumed vast amounts of housing, resources, and community identity. We did not know it but our actions would have repercussions. It would take a pandemic to reveal many of our unintended consequences.  

For me, the wins came early and often. Work in the nonprofit sector was the first goal achieved. Months later, I would sit in a classroom pursuing a master’s degree in nonprofit leadership at Seattle University. Between these two points in time, I explored my new home and was introduced to single serving friends. I met countless people who wanted to get together for drinks or dinner, but that was where the investment stopped. No matter where I looked, I could not find the Seattle versions of Matt, Mark, and Patrick. No matter how I tried, I could not form deep relationships with anyone I met. For me, these were some dark days filled with tremendous doubt. On countless occasions, I questioned the very decision that delivered me to Seattle.  

I committed myself to pushing forward. I was determined to keep trying. At some future date, I hoped to shake off the outsider status and count myself among those stitched into the fabric of this place. This happened, but not from within the city limits. Back in Oklahoma, a dear friend also found himself lost and in need of escape. I offered refuge, and he accepted my offer. Combining forces, we escaped the suburbs and moved to West Seattle (an island unto itself).  

Together, we made an apartment near Alki, our home base. We began exploring, hiking, venturing around the state, eating, drinking, and befriending Seattle. It was a magical time in my life; something I will never forget.  

We made friends with a couple a few blocks from us. Tim and JR finally provided the very thing I had been searching for since arriving. We spent countless hours together. They made me fall in love with Seattle. This became a place I defended. I was proud to live here. It was finally feeling like home, but only if I could hold my community together.  

I could not. First, Tim and JR fell victim to the whims of Boeing and found themselves moved to Long Beach, California. Then, I came out, started dating, and fell in love. Within a year, the urge to write the next chapter of my life with the true love of my life became too hard to ignore. This desire was an impossible choice, but ultimately led to Patrick returning to Oklahoma. In his absence, my partner moved in with me. For a while, the newness of our love was enough, but I am a man in need of deep friendship. Without them, an itch began mirroring the very itch that led me to Seattle. The pull of Los Angeles morphed into a song with a rhythm impossible to push from my mind.  

The conversation was slow and steady. It lasted for months. Together, Brandon and I visited LA. We talked of new opportunities and hopes for the next chapter of our lives. Nos soon softened, turned into maybes, and finally morphed into a plan. Brandon would pursue an alternative career path. I would pursue a lifelong desire to work on behalf of those experiencing homelessness.  

With a yes, we changed the trajectory of our lives. Another inflection point found me driving away from Seattle. As the skyline grew smaller in my rearview mirror, I had no way of knowing what the future might hold. Within months, I would have my answer. My best laid plans did not go awry. I met the goals I set for myself. I was reconnecting with old friends and chasing passions that had been daydream-inducing thoughts for a long time. The path before Brandon was mired by obstacles and defeat. The same yes that delivered us to Los Angeles now needed him to return home. We would remain together, but from a distance. Brandon returned to Seattle. I made plans to follow his lead a year later.  

Alone in LA, I would train for the Pacific Crest Trail, volunteer, write, and fall deeply in love with cinema. A fresh group of friends would encircle me. In them, I recognized the potential to secure what had alluded me in Seattle. In an instant, this proved to be the case. In an instant, the year was over, and I found myself on the Mexican border, walking north toward Canada.  

 In early March 2020, all our lives transformed. As COVID-19 spread across the globe, it forced me to push pause on my dream out of an abundance of caution. I started hiking on March 13th. By the end of the month, I was back in Seattle; four months earlier than I had intended.  

I have now been back in Seattle for two years. My relationship serves as the anchor and only genuine connection to this city. In the chaotic wake of a pandemic, I have made no real friends, established no actual community, and have not found work that feels as meaningful as my time spent working on behalf of my unhoused neighbors.   

Yet, this is an essay about Seattle, not just about my relationship with it. I could type countless words about the impact of the pandemic on Seattle. I could fill the next few paragraphs with astonishing takes on trash, graffiti, and a general sense of apathy that is defining what it means to call this city home. I could tell you how real the challenge of homelessness has become in this city. I talk for hours about the Seattle Freeze, rain, and a thousand other complaints launched at the shore of the Emerald City by countless transplants. The truth of the matter is these realities only reinforce my frustrations and personal challenges.  

I also live with the very real possibility that my relationship with this place could change. I could find myself welcomed into a community, mirroring what I had in Oklahoma and Los Angeles. Meaningful work revealing a concrete career path could open before me. My passions could become front and center in my life. All of this is possible.  

Seattle could finally put this pandemic behind itself. Civic pride could replace apathy. We could work to reduce the trash and graffiti. Our neighbors, experiencing homelessness, could find themselves housed. We could create a more welcoming environment for those moving here. We could use our time spent inside cementing relationships.  

The power to change myself is mine alone. The power to change Seattle belongs to all of us. If I am going to remain here, change will need to come soon.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

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