It took nearly four months of negotiations, this move. We sold all our belongings. We moved out of our house. We researched. And researched. And researched. We interviewed. And interviewed… We saved money. We did all the appropriate doctor/veterinarian/car maintenance appointments. I even got one last haircut with my favorite hairdresser. We saw (most) of our family one last time. And a week later, we were driving through the I-90 tunnel and into downtown, late on drizzly Sunday evening.
Sigh of relief.
I’ve lived here before, which is sort of confusing. When people find out we’ve just landed in Seattle, they welcome me and ask how we like it so far. And so I explain that, well, I moved here five years ago, and I liked it a lot. But I moved back to Missouri to go to graduate school for a few years, and while I was there I met a boy, married him, watched my dad get sick, watched him get well, got a dog, had these great friends and families, finished said grad program, looked for a job, didn’t find one, couldn’t quite decide what to do, applied for jobs all over the country, boy followed suit, got one and here we are.
Usually at this point they are backing away slowly and thinking to themselves “a simple it’s good would have sufficed.”
The short answer: I love it here. And it’s different to share it with that other half, that person that gets you at a cellular level. For the last three weeks I keep asking Brian “On a scale of one to ten, ten being highest, how much do you like it now?” Yesterday he responded “On a scale of one to ten, ten being most likely, how likely are you to STOP ASKING ME TO RATE SEATTLE ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN?”
I said 4.5.
It’s like when you tell someone about a great new place to eat. And you ask them if they liked it, nervously, because, well, you gave it this glowing endorsement and you loved it too and you just want to share the love of that amazing bread or soup or whatever.
Incidentally, Brian started out at a 4.5. That was before he’d started his job and before we had an apartment. Now he’s steadily responds with an 8. I’d say we’re doing all right.
I can’t actually speak for my husband, but here are the things that we love about this place:
- You are always, without question, within spitting distance of an espresso.
- There are no beer snobs. Or, more accurately, everyone is a beer snob, so we fit right in.
- Grocery Outlet. A way, way, way more awesome Aldi.
- You are never more than a ten-minute walk from some body of water.
- Those PNW-ers. They’re a clever bunch. They really like these things:
- Bumper stickers. Every day I see them, plastered all over Subaru’s and Prius’s all across the city: “26.2” or “Coexist (in the funny type) or “Dog is my copilot” or “a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.” Yeah, yeah.
- Punny advertising:
- You holler, we’ll haul ‘er. (moving company)
- We feel your pane. (window company)
- And my favorite, “Do you have change for a paradigm?” T-shirt, seen at beach.
My dog is still scared of the waves and he barked incessantly at a piece of driftwood the other day. My quads are feeling the hills, and my feet are constantly cold. Oh, and traffic sucks real bad. Those are my only complaints.
I’m not sure what we thought would happen when we got here. And I know it was a heartbreaker to leave all the things we felt so secure in. But we got here, and were greeted by open-armed friends, employers who couldn’t be happier to have us, a great network, and lots and lots of sunny days. So, to the happiest sad people who sent us off to the great Northwest, from Beahan 2.0: we’re doing great.