Shadows of Seattle - The Not So Easily Recognizable Patterns We All Feel

The city felt alive with manhole covers exhausting steam from underneath the streets. I am unsure what is happening underground to cause the steam to generate, but I know it is something that breathes life into the city. Regardless of my understanding, up above on the street, it makes me feel alive. It adds to the ambience and communicates to me that I am somewhere different and unfamiliar. Big cities are living, breathing organisms with their own ecosystems of people and businesses. I’ve grown up in smaller cities, small cities boarding on country living where people often own large patches of land. A city like Seattle is nothing of the sort.

It was invigorating for me to wake up, walk a mile around the city, and appreciate the unfamiliar effects and sensations all around me. It is this effort of experiencing, adapting, and appreciating that which is different that excites me.

What would it be like to wake up on the 23rd floor and peer out into the city? What would it be like to live so high that you look down and see other people in their own homes going about activities that are important to them? In this scenario, peering into someone else’s home begins as an unintentional gaze. Noticing movement in the peripheral vision, human curiosity quickly takes over and it becomes an odd, intentional fixation as we wonder what other people’s lives are like. What is this odd fascination that captivates us so? What is so deep in the bones of human nature that makes us all the same in this regard?

The more I see of the world, the more I begin to understand this drive to know the world around me, to understand and feel. I perceive that I understand more, at least, but do I really? This is also something that makes me feel alive. It’s titillating, burning a hole in my memory that constantly pricks and prods when the dregs of routine begin to dig in. Once wanderlust has set, it is hard to ignore.

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On this trip to Seattle, we were on the 27th floor of the Renaissance Hotel in Downtown Seattle, catty-corner with the Seattle Public Library. The thoughts above are a result of waking up Saturday morning and walking around the city after flying in Friday night. The trip was festive in nature. My partner and her brother have birthdays around the same time. My partner’s parents flew us in, along with themselves, to have a nice birthday celebration her brother while the whole family was present.

Our room looked out into Elliot Bay. The view was clear down Madison Street but otherwise slightly obscured by other sky-rising buildings. We could see the Seattle-Bremerton Ferry going across the water providing another artery that circulated necessary particles of the city’s lifeblood. Pike’s Place Market was less than a mile from our location. We went on a morning stroll to get out and about. The quietness of the morning offered a whole new perspective on the city that would be in direct contrast to the hustle and bustle of Pike’s Place Market later in the day.

In one alley, we found some interesting street artwork. At a bank, we noticed a living wall feature. Wherever people go, they find ways to add their own flavor of life to their surroundings. One could view this urban jungle as a disgrace to Earth’s natural flow. One could also find beauty in the rebirth. Take, for instance, the artwork.

To me, the face is almost Monsters, Inc.-like. I don’t know what “Salty” and “Sagri” mean, but I know they meant something to the artist who crafted the words. Although I have no direct connection to these people, their stories, or their lives, I resonate with the human connection we all share – a deep-seated desire to be heard, recognized, and validated. The alley had more artwork, the letters RIP followed by a name frequented this patch of wall, among others. These people were alive. They had families and stories. Their loss had an impact on someone, and that someone felt a need to remind the world of their importance. This, I felt as I stood there viewing the wall. This, I know to be true.

And the living wall. It evoked a series of deep-seated thoughts about human nature and why we do the things we do.

Have you ever seen a sheer granite mountainside and realized how small you are? Scanning the mountainside, you see a small bush sprouting out of a small crack. It fought and found a way to grow, to live. The living wall, to me, is the embodiment of that small bush fighting for life in an urban landscape. It shows that, no matter the environment, humans have a desire to nurture and grow. They will cultivate life. On the wall in front of me, someone decided to cultivate life by draping a wet cloth down a wall and sewing compartments for soil to sit in.

I often think about why we grow up and lose our child-like curiosity for the things around us. Why we so often grow callous and cold. I imagine part of it results from an accumulation of life experiences that hurt, make us feel pain, and encourages us to practice avoidance out of fear of it happening again. Often, this is presented as Wisdom. The “This happened to me, and it didn’t turn out well, so you should steel your heart against it before you experience the same” sort of dialogue. When is this approach constructive? When is it limiting? Where is the balance between the two?

I don’t know the answers to these questions, but I do know that I feel alive when my child-like curiosity is awoken. I feel free, open, and fulfilled. This often happens when I travel to unfamiliar places, and I make the choice to be open to the things around me. I see the discomfort. I feel the discomfort, and I choose to embrace it. I choose to learn. 

I am an accumulation of all my life experiences, my hopes, my dreams, my failures, my successes, and so on. You, dear reader, are also an accumulation of all these things. This is something we share deep below the surface – in our hearts, in our minds, and in harmony with the human narrative. I hope you feel the life that I felt from this trip, and I hope it encourages you to adventure and feel alive in your own way.