The Tenderloin Geographic Society

You are sweet, here’s hoping the warmth isn’t so much a smothering blanket as a nice cuppa. I’d be just as curious whether you had strong reasons to move, as I felt I did when it became abundantly clear that my life had drifted toward paying for the privilege of being miserable, decent coffee and a not-bad commute notwithstanding.
I find it helpful to think about what I had to lose and why I did it still.

• Friends, who are my family. We are, to some extent, able to keep in touch. When a friend moved to Italy years ago, I found our relationship improved. I’m hoping the same happens with all those folks I couldn’t see because I was too tired from work, disinclined toward a long bus ride that seems a fraction of what I travel now.
• My art, because so much of what I did, and to some extent, still do, is formed by the type of city in which I resided. I am still working on this, because my where existed in my head as much as in real life. I want to give Seattle a chance. I’ve certainly had time to be disappointed in it, so it sure feels as though we’re in a committed relationship. I’ve visited at least once a year off and on for the last 7 or 8 years, and some of my regulars have been ousted for condos, and I was upset—not even my city at the time!—at the loss. The skyline is dominated by glass towers, and old cottages are turning into Borg-like structures. Yet I know that not building results in impossible situations (hello, SF). Still, what is the point in living in a place if it looks like everywhere else? At that point, ought we not move to where the good bagels are?  
• Proximity. Don’t underestimate the pleasure of being able to walk, bus, or ride your bike across a city in a day. Although I once walked from I.D. to Fremont, just to see what was on the way. I chose the least scenic route, as it turns out. Do not recommend it. 
• Knowing what the hell I was doing. Which leads to:

Living in the same place for 15 years, that’s more than enough time in which to grow stagnant. I had done so much of what I wanted to do, from writing for other people to crazy opportunities that came about thanks to some great bosses. I did things I couldn’t have imagined doing. To a preternaturally lazy person, this meant a lot.  

Leaving meant  that I would have a chance to make new friends, and do I have close friends now? No, not by any means, and I’ll be coming up on a year here in a few months. The people I see on a semi-regular basis are neighbors, and luckily they seem to be the sort I’d socialize with, happily. I’ve yet to find close confidants, and don’t know when I will, but expect it to take a long time. I’d like to think that if I were working steadily outside of my house, that would be one place to make friends, but I don’t count on that (hire me, friendly people, I’m not that lazy). Meeting people in a bar has limited appeal, and occasionally I manage to text the one person I met in this fashion.
“We really should get a beer,” we text.
Each of us has good intentions. That has been going on since May or so, beerlessly. 

I wonder if you find the people you meet to be friendly on the whole—or if you’re the recipient of some reserved Scandinavian politesse. When in Minnesota, I found this to be true, and given the makeup of Seattle, there is a correlation. It’s not you, it’s them. Then again, our Swedish neighbors are quite dear, so there goes that theory.
I still find it odd that I don’t have nearly as many bus conversations as I did once, but there’s something to everyone sticking to themselves—perhaps we are missing our opportunity to become crazy bus-talking people?

As you’ve gathered by now, place for me is as much about friendship as anything, and so it feels like this city and I are still feeling each other out. Older and nary wiser, I don’t think it can be conquered—I shouldn’t want to do that—but I am painfully aware of what I don’t know, and wish to use this to my advantage. 
Allow yourself to be surprised, and patient. I don’t know you, so forgive if this is forward, but in me, it’s all I want: the need to be surprised, but mixed with terrible insatiability of wanting to have all that knowledge. It takes time, and that’s the hard part. It won’t be sudden, but you won’t even know what the trouble was. Spring will be here, and then summer, when everyone comes out hungry for human contact.
You and me and all of us other-y types will make it, we just have to.
Or we’ll all just get cats.