Last Night in Seattle

I have some photos to post, but I’m not going to put them up now because a) I can’t be bothered and b) the photo area needs a bit of a sort out, and it’s more of a weekend project than a night-before-you-check-out-and-fly-home thing. Seattle is a proper city – it’s busy, has big buildings, lots of tourists and lots of homeless people. Almost as many as Vancouver by the look of it. Why are there so many homeless people in Seattle?

The history of the city is fascinating – the Underground Tour is one of the best I have ever been on. It’s amazing that they lifted the street level up, and that there are blocks and blocks of streets with hidden sidewalks underneath them (and bizarrely reminiscent of our Under The Floorboards experience the other day).

After we got back to the hotel, I wandered off to the Whole Foods Market with the intention of stocking up on the wonderful Dr Hauschka range. The only Whole Foods in Washington is two streets away from the hotel, so I thought that was pretty lucky, as it’s all so expensive in the UK. However, I got there only to discover that it’s actually more expensive here than back at home, which is a first, so I passed on filling my basket with lovely potions.

Being in Whole Foods reminded me so much of when Steve and I lived in California. It smelt exactly the same as the one in Cupertino. Being the sentimental person I am, and because it’s a quiet Friday night, I suddenly realised how much I missed Steve, and how far away from him I felt. Being in the shop made me feel like I was back in Cupertino and Steve was somehow missing because he wasn’t there with me.

I felt sad.

Sad that Steve isn’t here, and sad that we’re not in Cupertino any more and that that part of our lives is behind us. Not that I want to turn the clock back and change the decision we made to come home.

I often have this feeling, months, or even years after an event or period in my life. As I’ve got older I’ve learnt to recognise what it is – and I no longer panic that I’ve made choices I shouldn’t have. I know that it’s just my mind’s way of processing things that have happened to me, and that the sadness is really a kind of reminiscence of something that I lived through. Good or bad, all these things make me who I am today, and I love being where I am right now, so I can’t help but feel a kind of sentimental affection for everything that has moved me to the place in the world I now occupy.

I’d be mortified if I woke up back in our US apartment, and I’d jump on the next flight home.

Yet I’m sad because I know I’ll never wake up there again.

I suppose it’s all about beginnings and endings really. If it makes sense, my sadness is a kind of joy over the past. It’s wilful self-indulgence in poignancy, and biting reassurance that I am still truly alive.

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