Every sociologist should experiment with altering their universe from time to time to observe another way of life and get perspective. Since I returned from Ecuador in October, I have been living in the tiny mountain town of Roslyn Washington. The town had it's proverbial "fifteen minutes of fame" in the 1990's when it became the set for the network series "Northern Exposure." In fact, that was why I first came to visit in 1997. However, it was not the program, but the town itself that kept me coming back periodically over the years that I lived in Seattle. On that first visit, I went into an ice cream parlor that was situated where the furniture store is now. There, standing at the counter I saw a woman who (though I'd never seen her before) had an intense familiarity about her. She saw me too, and felt the same. Though neither of us could explain it, the two of us embraced eachother as though we were seeing a long lost friend. Later that day, a local kid told me that I would end up living here some day, and that ultimately I would die here. I didn't think he was saying this to scare me, but rather to inform me. I never thought I would actually live here. After all, I was an urbanite through and through. Since moving to Seattle, I had fallen in love with the diversity and the culture. I had benefited from the opportunites the city had to offer, and had become immersed in the music and arts scene. To me, a town like Roslyn was simply a nice little get away not too far from the city.
So, how did I end up here?
When I left Ecuador the first time, I had changed. Living with the Quechua and the Huaorani gave me new perspective on life. I began to question our lives of convienince. I began to see how having the city at my fingertips had kept me from seeing the things in life that were really important. The city's vibration fell out of sync with my own. I began to see that the abundance of the city was making me weak. I needed to get away.
So, I woke up one Saturday, threw my dogs in the car and started driving. I didn't know where I was going. I headed south on I-5 for a while till I saw an exit for a highway I'd never traveled on before. I followed the winding two lane highway till it merged with I90 and I found myself heading toward Roslyn. It had been a while since my last visit, so I decided to go have some lunch and let my dogs run around in the woods. When I got here, I met a few locals who decided to celebrate my arrival with a spontaneous barbeque. The rapid pace of my city existance slowed for a moment, till I tore myself away and returned to Seattle. I started to come out every weekend. The summer was coming to an end, but the weather was still warm and inviting. My hounds and I were welcomed to stay with my new friend Brent, and we enjoyed our little get aways.
However, as I prepared to leave my position at SCAN, and for my October trip to Ecuador, I was unable to visit Roslyn. Sucked back in to the demands of the city, I started to lose sight of what it is that is truely important to me.
From there began the painful process of letting go. I had to let go of the job that was the center of my universe.... all the programs I'd created, and young people I had built relationships with. My work had been the thing that had kept me going, even when my heart and hopes were broken from loving a man that I could not help. I had to let go of the house he and I had shared, and the memories and the shattered illusions. I had to let go of my home.... my friends.... my idea of who I was and what I could be. Everything had to go. It felt like dying.
My first weeks in Roslyn were difficult. I struggled with my attachments. I thought of what I was giving up. I fretted over the uncertainty of what was to come. I sat alone in an old coal miners house trying to master the wood-stove. I paced back and forth afraid for the state of my mind. In town, I felt both acceptance and rejection. I was not certain I would ever fit in here. To make things worse, my dogs were quickly 86ed from the dog friendly tavern in town. Without them, I would not have my instant conversation starters. I would not have the sense of security that their furry little faces give me when they are near. I avoided that tavern because of my embarrassment for their behavior, and went into isolation mode. I honestly felt as though my broken heart had killed me, and my soul was hanging in limbo.
Despite the depression I was falling into, I continued to wake up every morning and try to make progress. I knew that at four everyday, my one and only friend in Roslyn, Brent, would be at the brick downing his screwdrivers. Because of his routine, I found my own. Usually, I'd sleep as late as I could, then take my laptop to the coffee shop (lefties) and try to get some work done. At four I would go see Brent and cling to him till it was time to sleep again. I was increadibly lonely, but because of the constant struggle in my mind, I was not ready to look for companionship. In fact it caught me completely off guard when one night at the brick I met smiles with one Roy Alan Crowe.
I was having a smoke on the the back patio when I looked down at the men loading wood into the basement of the Brick. Roy looked up, our eyes met, and we both smiled. I finished my cigarette and went home to let my dogs out. When I got back Roy and Brent were sitting together at the bar. I tried to play it cool. I knew I didn't want to date anybody in this town, and was confident that my resolve would hold up. Brent invited us both to his house to eat a duck his room mate had shot that afternoon. I have no taste for duck, but still I agreed to head over. After dinner, and a movie which we all chatted through and barely watched, I consented to giving Roy a ride home.
In the truck on the way to his house, Roy looked at me with his cute face and his big blue eyes and told me he wanted to be a rock star. I flashed back to all the self proclaimed "rock stars" I'd dated in the past and felt sick. My flirty smile left my lips and I growled at him that he had just lost any points he may have had. Not knowing how to respond to my sudden hostility, he got quite, and I dropped him off and went home.
Later that week, I needed to purchase something or another from the local sundries shop, so I walked into town. Upon entering the shop, I saw Roy standing behind the counter. I was immediately relieved to know that he could easily be found there. We talked in a flirty manner for a while, and I left to go about my business in town. The next day, I was sitting in the same chair I'm writing from now at Lefties when Roy finished his shift at Central Sundries and came in for some coffee. The internet was down, and I couldn't get the work done that I needed to, so he offered to take me to Cle Elum to another place he knew of with a reliable wireless connection.
Two months later, Roy and I are considering that trip to Cle Elum our first date. We hung out all afternoon, and when he had to go run the audio board that night at the Brick, I went with him to talk to the owner about filming the bands that play there. As the night wore on, I felt too tired to stay around so I said goodbye to Roy and headed home. I took my night time meds, and went to bed. Several hours later, when the band had finished and the bar had closed, Roy found his way to my front door. Having woken me up from a sound drug-enduced sleep, I stumbled to the door and let him in. We sat on the couch and awkwardly conversed for the next hour or so till I couldn't hold my eyelids open any longer. I went into my room to lay down, and he came in to give me a hug and say good night. I was impressed that he didn't attempt to take advantage of my sedation and climb in bed with me. The next morning I left for Seattle.
to be continued.....
