“I just came back from my trip to Seattle.”
My friend pat me on my back.
“Well, it was nice knowing you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Almost every single person I know who visited Seattle moved there.”
“I’m going to keep poking and prodding because you’re awesome and we want you here.” – Clash
– Maybe I should just stay here. #iWish
– @poeticdesires toldjaso.
I doubted them. I seriously doubted them.
It was the night of the Roperlesque at Rope Camp. The festivities had ended. Everything was winding down.
I found myself in conversation with MissAmyRed and Gray about Seattle. Amy had previously mentioned having a spare room in her house in case I ever wanted to visit. But as I sat on the bench in the Barn, Amy and Gray began suggesting a little more insistently that I take the trip.
They talked about the Center for Sex Positive Culture. They spoke about how there is a party there every night of the week, different groups all converged in this one building.
They spouted names of people I should meet, how I needed to talk to them about leather or bootblacking or rope.
I happened to mention SEAF, the Seattle Erotica Arts Festival. It was being held the first weekend of August. As I weighed my options, stay or go, taking the leap or letting the moment pass, I just knew I was going to buy a plane ticket once I got home.
Amy and Gray spoke so highly of the city. Yet still I thought there was no way it would seduce me as it had them. Not that fast. Not in one trip.
One week. I landed last Thursday morning. I returned home this morning.
I spent seven days meeting people, going to parties, and experiencing the life and culture of a wonderful city.
All too often, I realized how much I loved being in Seattle. How much I loved the people I met, the community that welcomed me, and the moments, both big and small, that defined my trip to the northwest.
Not only did I quickly grow to love Seattle, the people around me seemed to quite quickly grow fond of me.
There was my new title, The Bane of Pants, so dubbed by Amy because I keep charming them off of people.
There was the Sunday brunch on Amy’s deck, where Clash first asked if I thought about moving to the city. My response: “I can’t answer that question.”
It had only been four days, yet I was already feeling the pull of the people around me, the pull of the community, the allure of the city.
The whole group chimed in. Half a dozen people who had just become a part of my life wanted me to stick around. They knew I had to go, but they didn’t want me to leave.
There were my last moments at Paradise, a local camping event. The goodbyes before my departure. And the gentle needling, the suggestions, and dare I say hopes, that I’ll make my way back to them.
As I sat in the airport, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to get on my plane with screaming babies and an aisle seat where almost everyone on the plane bumped into me. I didn’t want to deal with grumpy flight attendants and a sore neck. But, most of all, I didn’t want to acknowledge how sad I was that I had to travel away from what felt like a new home to me.
I don’t know what my life will be like next year. Or the year after that. Or the year after that. But I know Seattle is there, looming in the back of my mind, a mistress I cannot deny. Her fingers somehow wound their way around my heart. Only time will tell if her hold grows stronger or gently eases.
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