There have been plenty of days when I felt like all of Seattle wanted to chase me out of the city with pitchforks and torches. Nobody said or did anything in particular. It was just this overarching vibe of impending doom and disdain from everyone--coworkers, strangers on street corners, and every article in The Stranger ever. I keep my eyes glued to the pavement for the majority of my two-mile walk to work and don't really dare walk into any new coffee shop outside of the one I've already established as a safe place where Will knows my name. Thanks, Will. You always compliment my lipstick, and for that, I'll love you forever.
You're probably rolling your eyes and saying, "that sounds like a personal problem to me, Amy." To which I say, CORRECT! It is a personal problem. I'm a sniveling, no-good, shrinking violet dummy that can't get her shit together and just be brave. Everyone has been kind and welcoming, but that doesn't change the undercurrents of "you do not belong here" that I can't shake. I'm not intelligent enough or socially aware. I don't have strong opinions. I'm an ignorant, naive bitch from Utah where the hairstyles are homogenous and the religion rules the politics . Or so I keep telling myself.
The thing is, I moved here to escape the homogenous hair and zealot oligarchy. And while I'm ashamed on the daily that it's all I know, I'm doing my best to adapt quickly and know more. That, my friends, is called the most vulnerable Amy Morby has ever felt. Every day marks another reason to feel stupid about something I didn't know or perspectives I didn't see before. And every day I'm overly sensitive to opinions only because I'm already so down on myself about the limited life I've lead thus far.
But there are two things I know for sure. I never belonged in Utah. And since visiting the Oregon coast at age 16, I knew I belonged somewhere in the PNW. And as out of place and stupid I feel in the city--it's a different feeling altogether when I remember that I finally made it to a place where the green outweighs the brown in the scenery and pot shops outnumber Mormon churches. Which is all just to say, I know I'm physically in the right spot. And it's only a matter of time and a few more months of feeling like small fish in a big pond until I'm mentally in the right spot, too. I'm putting on my big girl pants, guys. It'll happen.
Now some photos of Orcas Island. We took a weekend trip for my berfday back in March, and the damn island gave me LIFE. Washington is a magical, magical place, and I wanna write it a love letter and impregnate it behind the bleachers.