My Seattle Vision

Turning left onto Pike towards downtown, the once familiar urban hike was hauntingly strange to me. It’s as if I had left town for a long trip and the surroundings had changed, people had moved on without me, the mood had shifted. Stores and restaurants I knew were gone – “for lease” signs tacked up on the windows. Businesses vanishing into thin air or had I imagined them? There were a few new stores, too. Brave entrepreneurs willing to try their luck in this economy. I respect them. For taking the plunge. For being okay with what will come their way. For seeing it through.

In the neighborhood, the brewpub is still going strong, as is the Wiccan shop. In place of a ReMax office, there is now a smoke shop. People needing cigarettes and bongs, or magic or beer. It kind of makes sense when you think about it. Who can afford real estate these days?

Crossing Boren Avenue, I started to feel tense, as if I was on my way to meet an ex-boyfriend who had recently and unceremoniously dumped me after seven mostly wonderful years together. Reality was that I was walking to my eye doctor for a check up. He used to be in a convenient location for me – two blocks from the WaMu Center. Wamu and me. We had to part ways. I’ll admit, I wasn’t fully prepared for the “I loved you…but I’ve met someone else” conversation.

I’ve been back to the Center only twice since I got the notice that my services were no longer required. Once to clear out my office – or villa (a modern, cost saving, octagonal shower stall of a workspace). Seven plus years fit into eight Public Storage boxes. Granted, most of the contents were books that I’ve accumulated since graduate school over 20 years or so ago. But, much to the chagrin of my husband, taking up space in our storage unit now, collecting dust, are my tangible, tactile memories from WaMu – group pictures from retreats and recognition trips, stupid, branded trinkets that I couldn’t throw away for some reason, certificates of achievement, my WaMu teller doll still in his original box - souvenirs of a bygone era.

The last time I went to the Center was to turn in my laptop, blackberry and badge. I did it on a bank holiday weekend, knowing that I wouldn’t run into many, if any, people I knew. What can I say? I like to grieve in private. Before leaving, I couldn’t resist stopping by my old shower stall on the 17th floor. Looking out at the view I had if I had gotten out of my ergonomically correct chair and away from my computer, I saw Pike Place Market and the Elliot Bay Marina and the Olympic Mountains. I took a deep breath and went to one more special place before leaving the building for good. Our award winning terrace, which was on the same floor as my “office.” I said goodbye to the zen plants and the abacus and the promise that this building had held for me. When I turned around, I didn’t look back. I was on my own.

But, I digress. Back to my walk towards downtown. Passing the convention center and watching people in suit jackets and ties, I was reminded of a game James, my husband, and I used to play – “Guess what convention is in town” – based on what people were wearing. The anime or technology conferences were always too easy. And the mid-westerners, no matter what convention was in town, were always easy to spot, lined up, outside in any kind of weather, at the Cheesecake Factory. With just a little bit of research, they could have dined at some of the most refreshing and innovate restaurants this side of the Mississippi. Instead, they walked away with “doggie bags” of food that would ultimately get dumped into the hotel’s garbage where they were staying. How do you reheat onion rings in a hotel room?

Anyway, it was no fun playing the conventioneer guessing game in my head. I didn’t even look at the nametags people were wearing. I was just glad the sun was out for them. I wanted them to have a positive impression of Seattle. To go back home and tell their friends and family that they had been pleasantly surprised by the beauty and vibrancy of downtown. A gal can hope.

Past the convention center, I found myself in the retail corridor. Everywhere I looked there were sale signs – 25% off – 50% off. Maybe all of the people were inside the shops spending their hard earned money because the streets felt empty and devoid of energy. Where was the bustle and where was the familiar hustle? In place of the kindly, grey haired black gentleman who used to stand by Roxy with his baseball hat in hand waiting for donations was a younger, more edgy threesome almost daring you to walk past them without acknowledging them or plopping some change in their empty guitar case. Had the bad economy trickled down to the traditionally down and out? Maybe the smart ones were hanging out in Bellevue? Last time I was in Bellevue, it felt like NYC. Though, not a lot of pedestrians….just a lot of cars. So, maybe the smart ones have left Seattle for more prosperous cities with less laid off people and more foot traffic?

So, I went to my eye doc and had to take in a glimpse of the Center before going in. I eyed it with reverence, not regret. Damn fool that I am. I also felt a tinge of sadness. But, I stuffed that, of course.

My exam went fine – but I learned - at the age of 42 - that my vision was getting better but that I need progressive lenses. Ah – the one-two punch! I joked with the doc that the last year at WaMu had aged me. It probably has. A few more grey hairs. A few more stress lines in my face. I can only hope, though, that I am now wiser and no worse for the wear and tear.

A kick in the pants to find a new career is not a bad thing. But I feel like I’ve left a family behind and now we’ll only get back together for infrequent reunions or celebrations such as births, weddings and regretfully for funerals. Oh – and the occasional happy hour.

I live a mile away from the mighty Center and it all seems so far away. A mirage looming out of the sky. A dream. A mixed dream. Some parts bad. Some parts good.

As I write this, I also feel a sense of adventure ahead. And possibly of relief. Things aren’t that bad outside of the “institution.” I don’t miss the mind-numbing politics or the constant change of direction or eating lunch at my desk or being on 24x7 and interrupting my family time with sayings such as, “Just one more email” or “I’ll meet you upstairs.” I’m still connected with my cherished WaMu colleagues and friends. That’s the big bonus leaving the joint - having worked with such amazingly talented people – we all get to help each other out with what’s next. The sense of camaraderie didn’t go away - it’s just not as concentrated as it used to be.

And, I’m starting my own independent consulting firm, a dream I’ve had for many a year. Most importantly, I get to be more in the moment and appreciative of the beautiful and simple things around me. Walking my dog, Dahlia, I see the beauty of spring in the cherry tree blossoms, the happy yellow of the daffodils and the unfurling chartreuse leaves of anchored, ancient trees. Nothing is taken for granted. I’m content, not frenetic. I’m caught up on my sleep and not burning my candles at both ends. I’m getting to know my neighborhood and my neighbors. I have time to connect, really connect, with my family and friends. I don’t know how I lived such a distracted life before.

Next week, I get to pick up my new bi-focals (let’s call them what they are). My eye doc is close to my dentist. Maybe I should make an appointment with him. But that’s hard for me to think about. No, I’m not too busy to make the time. And I really like my dentist and god knows that I’m over due. It’s just that his office looks directly at the Center. I don’t know if I could stand getting my teeth cleaned while looking at that building. It once represented hope and innovation and progress. I look at it now, and it’s like getting a filling put in without Novocain. Maybe Dr. J could give me laughing gas. That might ease the pain.