Well, that sounded pretentious. But it's true—this is the Seattle I love and needed. The weather can't still or cure me, but it's a whole lot better than having the sun beat me down, even at the more moderate temperatures we enjoy here. I can turn off my fan and its constant drone, listening to rainfall and breezes instead.
That said, I'm still in a minor funk. Katy Bowser put on a good show last night, and it was fun to meet her and be remembered by her, but I wish I hadn't been there alone (I'd invited a dozen or so of my friends earlier in the week). Still, it's honest. I've always done things alone, and I probably always will. I went to church alone before my age reached the double digits. The cemetery was my sanctuary growing up. When I got out on my own, I went to movies alone, had dinners alone. I'm an introvert, so being alone isn't some kind of terrible, horrible, has-to-be-fixed-because-it's-dreadful kind of thing. The only antidote is presence, and you can't make that happen—it's a gift you receive (or refuse) when it comes.
And it comes, no doubt. And it's incomplete on this side of heaven, no doubt. Both of these facts are hope and comfort.
It's just more human for me to admit I'm missing something, someone. So I'm trying to learn to do that, too.