As you've read I'm a transplant from the Midwest; my blood relations hail from Cleveland, Fort Wayne, Madison, and Appleton. While my parents are both deceased and I've no siblings, I've maintained close relationships with my cousins on both sides of the family. They are thoughtful, caring people who welcome me to join them for holidays, vacations, and ritual celebrations, and I often do.
But after college I left Cleveland for a bigger life adventure. Arriving in the Northwest I discovered the breathing room I needed to become my own man and come to terms with being gay. Seattle with its progressive attitudes became my home. In fact, I always tell my friends gay folks are Seattle's favorite minority. When I see the large number of straight spectators turn out for the annual Gay Pride Parade, I'm amazed and encouraged. People truly enjoy the spectacle and festivity. And there is a non-judgemental attitude I found missing during my formative years in Cleveland.
Despite the tolerant culture my queer and straight friends alike bemoan the challenge of making friends in such a polite, reserved, but frosty part of the country, the so-called "Seattle nice." Nobody's very friendly is the prevailing complaint.
I find the opposite is true. I think many folks in the Northwest, natives and transplants, crave connection. Many of us are shy. We rely on someone else to make the first move. My mother whose motto was "you can never have too many friends" coached me from an early age to "stick out your hand and introduce yourself."
From the get-go I followed her advice. The result for me? Seattle has proven fertile ground for friendship. We are a city of joiners so one valuable piece of advice I offer newcomers is find a group that shares your passions and join them. I love to sing, run, and swim. After an initial period of one-on-one activities in my twenties I decided the time was ripe to expand my social network in my thirties. The Seattle Mens Chorus, Seattle Frontrunners, and Orca Swim Club all enriched my life and introduced me to a wide variety of people. In times of trial and in times of celebration, they are my biggest cheerleaders!
Back to Sundays. Despite caring family, enduring friendships, and a new love in my life, I've discovered none of us can escape those moments I call the long dark midnight of the soul. Those times we feel disconnected from our family, our friends and neighbors, yes even our significant others. Sometimes there is only one person to face; that is I.
After a messy breakup three years ago my friend Matthew invited me to a recurring Sunday dinner hosted in Montlake. Our host Marty and his partner Dave provided the main course while the rest of us brought a side dish, salad, dessert, or bottle of wine. Happy people mingled in the kitchen with steaming plates of food and appetizers. Others congregated in a small study and around the dining room table. Sometimes a pair of inspired hands played the piano. The guests were diverse in age, younger mixed with older, many loosely affiliated with the Seattle Frontrunners.
Over the last six months my new boyfriend took first priority, but last night I joined the Montlake group for a smaller than usual dinner gathering. The familiar, fragrant pork roast wafted through the house. Men I hadn't seen since May stood around the kitchen island exchanging stories. Welcoming smiles, greetings of hello, and embraces chased away whatever blues permeated my earlier rainy day mood.
I'm proud to say I've watched several of these men advance from immature, uncertain and headstrong to motivated, fulfilled, kind individuals. I've cheered their successes, listened to their failures, and received the same treatment in return.
One fellow celebrated a milestone birthday, a fact the group wouldn't let him ignore. Marty baked his favorite desert, a German chocolate cake, while another buddy surprised him with a homemade peach layered sponge cake. The group broke into a chorus of Happy Birthday while he lamented another year passed.
After downing dessert some of us gathered in the family room to indulge in another guilty pleasure, a new episode of "Desperate Housewives." Others retired back to the study to visit over liquid spirits.
I found a spot on the couch and settled in. I'd brought my mozzarella and tomato salad and a genuine desire to connect with these men. In a town I often call "the city of misfits," all of us have found a way to make Seattle our own and scrape off the "nice" to get underneath, unearthing something deeper.
Despite the continuing job search and absence of immediate family ties, I'm not as alone as I think in my adopted home. I can love as I please without fear of retribution. I've discovered a kinship with people who share my values, interests, and hopes for personal growth. We are a brotherhood with an occasional sister thrown in for good measure. And I'm lucky to occupy a place at the table.
