I recently moved to Seattle. And, I have to be honest, I fucking love it. I
love the city, with its streets that are more pothole than pavement. I love and
I hate that it’s a city wrestling with the idea of itself–a progressive haven
for grunge and punk and folk–and the reality of itself–a haven for tech and
capitalism and wealth, with its contingent poverty arrayed below and beside the
tech campuses like zoo displays.
I don’t know what to do with myself here. I love its beauty. I am open to
the urgency of being a citizen, a member of a society unraveling at the edges.
I sit here, now, at home in a city of coffee (my favorite drink in the
world) and wonder what to make of life when my own chair, my own cup of coffee,
is comfortable. Luxurious, even. When I am at peace, but my world is not.
There is so much pain. I don’t want to close my eyes. But how do I bear
witness in a way that matters? I can march; I can call my congressional
representative. But what am I doing that matters?
One of the reasons I love living in a city is that its joys and its pain are
everywhere. I cannot ignore it. My prayer is for wisdom. How to live in and
with this city in a way that matters.
E. L. Diamond 