goodbye, Seattle.

thank you for everything.

You know me. You know I love a ceremony. I needed a ritual to say goodbye to you. So I did my last run-to-jump-Rachel-triathlon yesterday morning. I ran the six miles from our home in Fremont to the T-Dock at Lake Washington. I did my traditional back-dive into Lake Washington with a fellow jumper friend (there are five of us jumpers and love them all so much). Then I find a Lime Bike and bike home. This is how I wanted to say goodbye to you, Seattle. My last day living here after approximately 2663 days (6.4 years) of living here.

Running on the Burke-Gilman, I remembered six  years ago. I would bike downtown on this path every morning to work at an advertising agency on the 24^th floor of a high-rise. I was 32-years-old as I biked in for a big day when I thought (knew) I would be getting an offer to be the Creative Director of the agency. I rounded a corner downtown and pedaled uphill as hard as I could, but had to stop suddenly as a sporty Jaguar car zipped through an alley and didn’t see me. He almost hit me. We both slammed on our brakes. It’s hard to explain, but we were both kind of in the wrong… except I wasn’t in a Jaguar. 40 minutes later, I was in a gorgeous corner office overlooking the Puget Sound as the driver of that Jaguar (our CEO) offered me my first six-figure position. I thought about this a lot for the first two miles of my run. This interaction feels symbolic of my time here with you.

When I ran up First Hill, I couldn’t stop thinking about Evan’s job as an oncology nurse—the reason we moved to be with you. How hard Evan’s job was. The time that he was supposed to meet me and a group of friends at the Unicorn, but texted me asking if I could meet him outside. I put down my sparkly pink drink and met him on the sidewalk. I came out and he just started crying. We hugged and he said, “Work was just really hard today.”

I thought about how many times I drove to First Hill for pregnancy stuff. One pregnancy that didn’t work out and how many times I bawled in the buildings I ran past now (at least three times). And one pregnancy that brought me Marcelline. My everything. How wild it was to have a baby on March 17, 2020. The world shutting down as my heart was bursting open.

In the last quarter-mile of my run to the dock, “Home” by Caribou came on in my headphones.

I said, “oh fuck” out loud while running, trying not to cry.

Lisa and I got ready to jump. As I was talking to her, I got distracted by a huge bird flying right towards us.

– Sorry, is that a bald eagle?

Lisa looked.

– Oh, wow, yep! That’s a huge bald eagle coming to send you off!

He flew straight over our heads and then continued on to the trees you keep close to the water. I love that a bald eagle was a part of this ceremony with you. It made the symbolism of it all feel even more beautiful.

If an individual has been going through a hard time, eagle not only signals a new beginning, but provides that person with the stamina and resilience to endure the difficulties. If eagle has appeared, it bestows freedom and courage to look ahead. Summon the eagle when you are about to embark on a challenge, a massive life change or a creative endeavor.

We jumped.

We hugged. We said our goodbyes to each other. I found a bike to bike home. After half-a-mile, I found a discarded bouquet of roses in the street. It was so kind of you to get me flowers as a going away gift.

And then I came home. This home. I came home for the last time here. Our home was empty. The movers had already came. Our dear landlords came by to say goodbye to us. We all cried.

Evan, Marcelline, and I went room by room to say goodbye to this home.

The Kitchen

Where we had so many dance parties. Where we talked into the night, drinking wine we brought home from France. Where Evan made us so many delicious meals and I made us about four. Where Marcelline took her very first steps. My baby walked here. For the first time. And then immediately took to dancing and requesting just a one-song dance party after dinner each night.

Marcelline’s Bedroom

Which used to be my office. Where I wrote and made radio. Where we made a nursery. Where I rocked my baby hundreds of times and sang to her sweetly. Where I spied on Evan and her together, falling asleep in that same chair any time he put her down. Where Marcelline said, “Papa” for the first time. (her second word, after “doggie.”)

Our Bedroom

Where we brought our baby home to. Where we put her on the bed and just stared at her for hours, even though we were sleep-deprived beyond what we thought was possible. Where Evan kept stroking her head and saying, “Hiiii… Hiii, I’m your papa… Yeah… I’m yours.” Where we would lay in bed on Saturday mornings and listen to Sound & Vision on KEXP and every so often, I would tell my baby, “That’s me! That’s your momma on the radio.” Where we all laid together after Marcelline’s MRI that told us that she didn’t have a brain tumor. Where we all rested together when we were sick or sad. Where we all came together if we needed to feel a little safer or a little more loved.

The Living Room

Where everything happened. A whole life happened. A whole world. Where we watched every single English-speaking episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Where we played records while playing cribbage. Where Marcelline finally said “Momma” for the first time. Where I was when I found out I’d get my first piece published in the Seattle Times. Where I was when I accepted the position as a producer at KEXP. Where I was when I took a phone call with Daniel Jones about a piece of my writing he wanted to publish in The New York Times. I called Evan immediately after that call and told him, “I am going to be published in The New York Times” and he said, “Congratulations, Ray!” and I burst into tears and just couldn’t stop crying.

So many of my dreams came true in this home. Here. With you—Seattle.

We tried to say goodbye room by room. It felt like too much and not enough all in one. The goodbye was right and wrong. We all cried a lot and then I realized this might be borderline damaging to a four-year-old, so I made us have a huddle where we reiterated that we’re a team. We’re in this together. Jackson will be so much fun. It will be incredible. It’s okay to be sad and excited. We put our hands in, making sure it was connected to the wrist that dons our friendship bracelet. We’re a team. A team made here. Thank you for that.

Thank you for everything, Seattle. It truly does feel like everything right now. Driving away yesterday felt horrible. I’m crying again thinking about leaving everything behind. It’s a jump and a trust that we’re leaving everything behind to find everything ahead of us.

I love you, Seattle. I’ll miss you.

I promise I’ll visit.

xxo,
Rachel.