In the midst of the Sherman & 12th man unbecoming backlash, I wrote this piece on a sunny Seattle afternoon.
I moved to Seattle, freshly molded and naïve, straight out of college. For four years I’ve watched the city transform and it’s watched & challenged me. At first, I absorbed the melancholy- the wandering, lonely people desperately seeking recognition. I felt the pull-the friction of the crowd. Compelled to inhabit these collapsing walls. Drenched in grunge- defaced in pain. Only after I wept, did the city confront me- dared me to be- to do- to live. To breathe the sweat of recklessness. Groove & embrace apprehension. In the pulsing neon there was clarity.
I’ve watched this city for years as it’s watched me. Only recently, have I truly felt its pulse. Heard it’s almighty sound. One can argue the trivialness, yes. Glorified violence and Rainer.
But the electricity is different.
The melancholy mood is changed.
The fever, the pride, the anticipation, the camaraderie, the accomplishments of our youthful team.
The phenomenal effect of connection.
Part of the scene, part of the roar, the embraces & high-fives.
Shared support in a diverse city.
Come feel the buzz, feel the pull, feel the pride.
The affects of the 12th man.
Physiological and deafening.
The city walls exhale a misty blue.