Even the air takes on a whole new life, as it bounces off of the mountains, and dances through the streets. Flushing the cheeks of pedestrians, as they glide down leaf bedded avenues. People have warned me about the west coast, “One visit and you won’t want to leave”, “Seattle is the most beautiful city in America”, and “Goodbye forever”. I am now beginning to grasp these raw remarks. I was sold during the last twenty minutes of my flight, when you peer out your little airplane window, and all you see are snow encrusted peeks, rising through the clouds in such an innocent, yet, provocative manner. It’s as if they are extending their hands, welcoming you to their home.
So far, everyone I have run into has been the quiet sort. They are on a mission, with ernest steps. Though not vocally friendly, their smiles speak volumes. The style contrast between Nashville and Seattle is immense. The euphoric, calming demeanor of the people who live on the west coast reflects greatly in their outfits. Women tend to wear leggings, hiking shoes or boots, Northface jackets or cardigans, and glasses. Their makeup is very natural, if they are wearing any at all, and their very essence says, “I am not looking for attention, and am confident in who I am.” This is admirable. The men here love their simple jeans or khaki shorts, socks and tennis shoes are highly acceptable while wearing shorts, and their printed band or environmental Tshirts are sometimes accompanied by a Northface jacket or cardigan sweater (similar to the women). They aren’t trying to get women to ask them out, or project an alluring aroma to boost their egos. They are simply comfortable. They are simply men.
I am currently nestled in a little coffee shop in a town called Kirkland. The owner of the shop is a single man who looks as if his true identity is an artist. He is dressed in khaki pants, hiking shoes, a navy v-neck Tshirt - covered with a thick collared black zip up sweater. He looks similar to Steven Spielberg, if Steven grew out his beard a hefty foot and a half. I imagine this Steven look-a-like having an art studio above the shop, where he melts into himself, and becomes free. The shop is merely a business, a means to pay the bills. He doesn’t resent the life he has, and every customer who encounters him feels warmly accepted, yet he will always long for something more.
The shop itself is very quaint. The walls are lined with hundreds of 10x12 black and white pencil sketches of portraits. The faces aren’t of celebrities, or models, but rather, they appear to be a neighbor, a school teacher, or college student. The floor is cement, and the tables are cherry wood. benches line the walls, and are covered with mint green cushions. A partially exposed ceiling opens the room into a grandeur size. The front of the shop looks out over the small city street, lined with fall themed window fronts. An idilic scene.
Though my stay here has thus far been under the 48 hour mark, I feel safe, accepted, and at peace. May the city adventures captivate me as much as the small town ones have.
