Bernhard

I was born in a small village in southern Germany. I grew up in this community of about 800 people where people worked in the local factory and married a girl or boy from town ( or maybe the next town or so ) and got kids and built a house and went to Italy for the summer holidays and……. Retired down the road. 

Somehow, I knew when I was very young that this was not for me. At the age of 16 I had a dream in which I saw myself living in a cabin somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. I thought that it was Canada and at one point wanted to immigrate to Canada but ended up living in Australia for a few years. (Yes, it is quite different that the Rockies). 

Maybe it was that realization that brought me back to Germany. Living there, working and raising a family, the thought about living in the Rockies never let go of me. So, I ended up immigrating to the United States, moving to Montana. Finally, I was somewhere near where I saw myself in the dream. 

Montana is beautiful, the people are down to earth, friendly and open (if you stop with your car on the road somewhere in the boonies, chances a car stops and you are asked if you need help are big). I love Montana to this day and visit often. My children live there. And something is missing there. Montana is very white, and I am not talking about the snow. 

Living now in Seattle I experience the multicolored urban environment as a breath of fresh air. People from all over the world live here and I am one of them. When I walk the streets with my camera, I start feeling being home. There’s something here in Seattle that is touching me. And my dream cabin is only a little bit away on I-90.

***

You can find Bernhard on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/bernharduhl/

Adair

One of the first things people ask when they hear my slow, Southern accent is “Why’d you move to Seattle?”  I moved here for Love, I tell them. My (now) husband wooed me here one January with a floating house on Portage Bay, and the promise of winter sailing and a wood burning stove.  It was a dreamy as it sounds, and I’m not even a romantic. Three years, two homes, and one baby later, I’m still here.

***

You can find Adair online at www.adairrutledge.com.

Jonathan

Physician-assisted death is legal here and I’m grateful for it. Death with Dignity requires a terminal diagnosis by two doctors, allowing for a very large dosage of barbiturate to be prescribed, a medication sometimes referred to as a cocktail.

My mother-in-law Jerene and I shared a deep appreciation for a more classic cocktail, the Manhattan. Jerene said she preferred those that I made, which I cherished, but I cherished even more the way she always asked me to make her one. We’d go there for dinner and she’d greet me with, “Jonathan, I think you should check out the freezer.” A pair of Manhattan glasses would be nestled in the ice. That was her way. She made small things clever and fun. 

When it was clear that the return of her cancer would not only be terminal but also increasingly debilitating, she chose the path of Death with Dignity. She learned that the medication leaves a medicinal taste in your mouth, so when she prepared herself and the family, picked a day and time, she asked if I would make her a Manhattan to chase it down.

I made a tray of them. We all joined in - my wife and I, her brother, her aunt, her sober father, even the Death with Dignity volunteer witness would honor Jerene with a sip. Regardless of my track record, I was trembling as I made them. It seemed to take forever. As it was, Jerene’s moment proceeded very lovingly and rather quickly. And I don’t recall if it was my best Manhattan or just a good one. What matters is we all shared a taste, one that she loved.

Stories like this anchor me to Seattle. I’m not from here, but this is where I’m living my life.

Deborah

I just bought a house and it's allllmost not in Seattle, but I pulled it off, I stayed in town. Even in this economy! I know, right? I was maybe even overly intent on honoring this invisible civic Rubicon between Seattle and (in my case) Shoreline, about preserving the claim to semantic authenticity when I say "I live in Seattle." With my home town, I always append suburban caveats. I mean, I like the baroque paths that get carved into the conversational landscape over dozens of tellings of one's story, and how you refine them a little over time to best reflect the newest narrative ("it's about 60 miles north of San Francisco, about an hour's drive" "yes, exactly, where the fires were" "no, my mom didn't end up having to evacuate, but many of her friends lost their homes" "it's really kind of you to ask"), but at the same time I love that when people ask where am I from and I say "Seattle" they almost always, even in Madrid or Tel Aviv or Copenhagen, know where that is, or they figure they will or would know if they paused long enough to rifle through their mental card catalogue to retrieve a reference that's probably pretty close to relevant (Nirvana? Frasier? Oh, coffee, right?). I like that I can just say "yes, exactly." I like that narrative efficiency. If you ask me where I live, and if we're talking about a geographical location with a civic boundary, well, one word is going to get us most of the way there. Identity politics play into it, too. I get a thrill out of living in the city, however super-mega subjective that idea may be (Lake City:Belltown:Seattle:NYC?), of living somewhere that is stuffed to bursting with things I love to do, a literal embarrassment of riches for an absurdly privileged reasonably frugal middle-classer with some disposable income. I love it here. 

I moved to Seattle in 1999, just before the WTO riots that I missed entirely, living in Renton and working in Kirkland and feeling petulant that I was this close to living in the city without quite getting there because when I moved there I hadn't realized that Renton was its own town, not a neighborhood. I read the map but misunderstood the scale. After a few months I took a split-level in Fremont that I adored. I walked my dog and took guitar lessons and had a silly summer tryst and took up swing dancing and got pretty good, and once I tried smoking weed and had a paranoid episode so startling that I called 911 to ask if they could please make sure I wasn't going insane and/or talk me down. The fire fighters who came to my rescue were amused. After about a year the owners kicked me out so they could knock the place down and turn it into a townhome. So I bought a house Beacon Hill, a quirky little thing from the 1910s that made little sense architecturally and that I sold a few years later so I could get married and move to a house in Wedgwood that was big enough to have as many kids as I could get away with before the clock ran out. The marriage ran out before the clock. The house was too big and too expensive and too full of that marriage, so my kids and I moved to a smaller rental up the street. I'd been in Wedgwood for 14 years all told by the time my finances recovered enough to look at buying again, and I had to make a call about where to go next because I planned to stay put for a while.

I struggled with it. I worried a lot about limiting my options unnecessarily, but I worried a lot more about losing the community I'd so painstakingly crafted over the last decade plus. I suck at asking for help and though I know how to be gracious and grateful and truly touched when it's offered, I also suck at accepting it. Even as I believe in all of my deep neural network that people are filled with light and beauty and the capacity for overwhelming generosity, I tend to stick myself in this little mobius-shaped loophole of illogical exemption, as if there's an asterisk by my name in the roll call: "*they don't mean you." It's so dumb, I know, but I wrestle with it. I try to exercise my help-accepting muscles like I'm in a Rocky montage, and I've gotten a lot better, but the thought of starting over with a new community, new schools, new friends, new common understandings, not to mention new bus lines and new dry cleaners and new yoga studios and other such first world problems, well, it would have to be a hell of a house to make it worth it. So I got a map of Seattle and I drew boundary lines for all of the middle schools and high schools, all the bus lines to that go to Microsoft (who is bankrolling this whole operation in exchange for the use of my big giant brain), and where the Light Rail stops are going in. And I made a list of all the things I want in a house. And then I ranked them in order of importance and noted which ones were contingent on which others, and which ones I'd be willing to compromise on provided the house allowed for their possible addition in the future. Lists are the best, right? I love lists. So in conclusion:

Things I Love about Seattle

• Driving in pea soup fog and then rounding a bend into sparkling clear sunlight

• MoPop, MOHAI, Safeco Field, Benaroya Hall, The Nectar Lounge, Silent Reading Night at the Sorrento Hotel, Cinema Dissection at SIFF, SAM, SAAM, and the main branch of the library

• P-patches & dog parks

• Water water everywhere! Such a stupid place to put a city, on top of a handfull of large interconnected bodies of water, but it's so lush and gorgeous and all of the lakes and sounds are stunning and glorious

• Molly Moon's ice cream

• Lopez Island. Close enough.

• That so many other people also hate the things I hate about Seattle (rampant homelessness predicated on regressive tax structures among other things, lack of intersectionality in social justice, systemic racism in the police force) and are working really fucking hard to change them

• Creative culture

• The quality of light

• The rain. Yeah, I said it.

Things I Love About My House

• Light

• Light

• So much light

• 2 bathrooms!

• A room for my mom to come and stay as long as she wants as often as she wants

• A wee forest tucked into the back of my back yard like the kind that'd be in a dream where you forget you had a whole part of your house but it really is there

• It's quiet and peaceful and serene but walk a few steps and you're in a bustling urban neighborhood

• Light

• There's a spot for my sewing machines

• The inspectors were quite confident that the basement wouldn't flood even if there's a biblical rainstorm

• There's a perfect wall for this painting I bought before I bought the house and that's not a coincidence, it's one of the reasons I knew this house was right

• Just a short walk to the Burke-Gillman I KNOW RIGHT?

• Room for all my books

• My kids sleep well here

• I sleep well here

Katrina

"Where is Home?" is one of the toughest questions to answer. Why? Because my home - in the traditional definition - is Toronto. I never thought I'd ever call another city aside from the one that I grew up in, where my family all resides, and where some of my fondest memories were formed, my Home.

When I first packed my bags for Seattle, I thought to myself, "I'll give this city 2 or 3 years and I'll either head off to California or back to Toronto." Never did I think Seattle was going to be anything long term. It's a little funny meeting new transplants to this city and seeing their shocked faces when I explain that I've been living in Seattle for 7 years and can't see myself moving back to the east coast, or to anywhere else, for that matter.

Living in Seattle is like experiencing the terrain of the most thoughtfully planned video game. Drive an hour north for snowboarding. Head east and enjoy a day on the water kayaking or paddle boarding. Don't like snowboarding or being on the water? No problem! The hiking trails are ready for ya! Drive in almost any direction and experience the different flavours of neighbourhoods with some of the most delicious menus ever. 

Between the stunning views, constant activities outdoors, mixed with some of the friendliest people I have ever met, Seattle pulled me in and made me fall in love with the city. It doesn't hurt that I also met my husband here. Together, we're constantly exploring the new things that Washington has to offer, eating our way through new neighbourhoods, and creating a lifetime of memories through our adventures together.

When people now ask me "Where is Home"? The simple answer is: Seattle. This city captured my heart when I least expected it. 

***

You can find Katrina on the web at steadycatalog.com and on Instagram @steadycatalog.

Sarah

It's invigorating to hear someone's journey, what brought them to this moment. Seattle, an ever changing and diversifying city, has fueled my passion for exploration for nearly 16 years. I was just 20 years old when I arrived and had no idea what discoveries were in store. My first friend in Seattle was born and raised here, rare, she knew the "old Seattle". With her I discovered the dive bars only the locals knew. We worked at a hotel on Lake Union meeting people from all over the world who had traveled to Seattle for the Space Needle, Pike Place Market, or Sonics games at the Key. Like those tourists, my early days in Seattle were just scratching the surface of this city.  

At the University of Washington I found a new layer to the city – a generation of tech workers who had left school during the .com boom now back post bust and high school grads dreaming of lucrative Microsoft gigs. We drank pots of old coffee until 4 a.m. at Shari's while coding away. My main study buddy was an ex-Army Ranger who'd survived being shot multiple times while raiding a building in Panama. Now here beside me, learning Dijkstra's algorithm and laughing about our eccentric professor. And the professor - she taught me that feminism wasn't a derogatory word. It was also at UW where I would befriend another Seattle local, who in 9 years I would marry.  

After college I went to work at a small legal e-discovery software shop where I met an engineer from a dry county in Texas who'd earned a full ride scholarship to Princeton. The first time we hung out we attended an event for the Human Rights Campaign at a Seattle Storm game. I'd never seen women play professional sports before. We ended the night at a karaoke style drag show and while he shared his journey with me, I learned that not everyone had the right to marry. That evening widened my view of the world. Neither of us knew that night, that 13 years later he'd finally be able to marry the man of his dreams in Seattle. 

Expedia was next on my journey through Seattle's tech scene - it would be the people not the travel company who taught me about faraway places. An engineer from Palestine whose afternoon prayer I was careful to schedule meetings around, a yoga enthusiast from Bombay who I'd later visit the Taj Mahal with, and a musician turned engineer from Long Island who taught me about Judaism and Hey, Marseilles! When I left Expedia, I traveled internationally for the first time. In a deli in the small village of Vernazza I found a post card from the owners of an Italian restaurant in Seattle who'd also recently visited this same shop. Small world indeed. 

Fresh from the nostalgia of traveling Italy, I went to work for Microsoft where I would spend the next 7 years meeting people from places I'd never heard of and trying foods from every corner of the planet. While working on a hackathon project I met an engineer with profound hearing loss who inspired me to learn American Sign Language. As I studied the language, I discovered right here in Seattle a culture rich in visual storytelling, a close-knit Deaf community of activists, artists, and entrepreneurs. I also met a young man who'd lost his vision, and during the process he found his sense of smell grew so strong that he could tell when food wasn't fresh. Philanthropy ran deep in the company built by Bill and Melinda Gates which introduced me to amazing causes ranging from global health initiatives to teaching girls to code. It was also at Microsoft where I was working alongside a designer from Iran the day the Muslim ban was announced. The pain of exclusion in all forms came sharply into focus in these 7 years - ability, gender, race, religion, and culture. Seattle, the place that brought all of these people together at this one company, instilled in me a lasting appreciation for accessibility and a passion to make the world more inclusive. 

My explorations have taken me full circle, working now for Facebook just one block from that hotel where I started my Seattle journey 16 years ago. And while I'm still exploring - meeting new people and learning about their journeys – I'm also trying to put back in a fraction of what I've gained. I'm looking for opportunities nurture those places that make Seattle safe and inclusive. My love for this place runs deep - we put 4 women on the ballot for mayor (FOUR!), legalized marriage for all, raised the minimum wage to 2x the national average, marched for black lives, women's equality, and the environment. I'm eager for the discoveries that are still to come and who I'll meet next – maybe it's you?  

***

You can find Sarah online on Facebook and Instagram

Dave

I’d like to think I could be the head of Seattle tourism.

It’s my second stint here. I left New York City in April 2007, and immediately cancelled my New York Magazine and New Yorker subscriptions.

Months later, I still dressed like a New Yorker. In fact, I was headed to a client meeting and a co-worker said, “Dave, I didn’t realize you went to church on Thursdays.” I laughed and untucked my shirt. Then promptly went out and bought a pair of Red Wings, some flannel shirts and stopped shaving.

To me, Seattle just feels right. The gray doesn’t get to me. I can find beauty in the dramatic skies on the bleakest of days. Something colorful is always in bloom. And looking at the water never gets old.

If it gets too chilly, there’s another layer of Patagonia and the world’s best coffee. If it gets too hot, well, let’s not kid ourselves.

Speaking of chill, or freeze, I don’t believe there is one. I’ve lived in enough places to know that meeting friends, and finding the folks who do the things you love to do, takes a bit of work. And it’s always worth the effort.

When my wife and I were renovating our home a few years ago, we found a Seattle Times Sunday Magazine from 1969. In it, there was a rare color spread. It had an aerial photo of the city. The caption wondered if all the growth would ruin the city. Forty-nine years later, I’d argue it’s only making it more attractive to me.

***

You can find Dave online on Instagram and Facebook

Billie

My name is Billie, but my parents often call me Billie Blue Bacon Bits, the Wiggler, or even The Comma (given the extent of the wigglage when looking down from above). I’m a border collie, roughly 9 years old. To the extent that my parents know my past, well, they say a construction worker found me along a highway in Eastern Washington, gave me a good shot at a home, but couldn’t keep me locked up all day.

The American Kennel Club defines my breed as a member of the herding group, and they couldn’t be more right: I love herding frisbees, tennis balls, my stuffed shark, my stuffed hedgehog, cookies, even my brother cat Norman when no one’s looking. Their website says I’m “a remarkably bright workaholic”, but I’m not sure what that means. Yeah, I’m pretty smart, at times I might look at you like a man in a dog suit. While I can help you itemize your taxes every April (no, really), I’m a stray sans paperwork, sans passport. But you see, where humans define their life as work and play, for me it’s all just life. I have only so many days on this earth, I can’t define them. Quite simply, I just go.

You wouldn’t know it from looking at me, but I’m a dog of divorce. :) Yeah, happens even to the best of us. Love and dote as I might on my parents, it doesn’t always work out. I used to blame myself. I mean, I think we all do right? But as time marches on those feelings diminished. It’s been more than five years since my parents split up, but they worked out an arrangement for me to visit my dad once in a while. Mom and Dad still love each other, just differently. They have new partners , which means more belly rubs!

My mom is a veterinary technician, so while I have the best teeth in town, she can also bring me to work. It’s a great sitch, no doubt; I’ve seen some of my fellow borders at the dog park whose parents left them alone all day. Two words, people: CRACKED OUT. Place a stethoscope to their chest and you’ll hear BALL BALL BALL BALL BALL at roughly 225bpm sitting still. And yes, they hate their parents for leaving them home all day.

Not me. Mom’s worked it out for me to curl up in a kennel slot while she works away. We take breaks for walks, rain or shine. Sometimes she gets sad during the day, I think because she cares so much for her patients, and we can’t always explain how we feel. All I know is that her cheeks must hurt, because when she looks at me she lights up with smiles and tears. I respond in kind with wigglage.

If you come walking up to me, I’m likely to chuff a bit. I’m proud and protective, but I always relent, as scratches and belly rubs matter most. Public service announcement: you might think I’m out to sniff your junk by default, but it’s more about circumstance, as my breed size and your inseam just happen to align. Believe me, I’m not always keen to whiff your bouquet, that’s simply the way I’m made.

I’m classically trained in the art of sitting, laying down, rolling over, and playing dead if you point at me. It’s kinda tough to do the latter given all the school shootings of late (look I’m a dog, but I watch the news, I’m smarter than most people, especially those shooters). I love to howl at sirens. Sometimes when we hear a siren my dad will ask, “do you want to sing the blues?”. I have no idea what that means, but I suppose that’s permission, so I let ‘er rip, he giggles, and that’s love.

I’ve noticed a few grey hairs creeping onto my muzzle. I try not to pay too much attention because, well, I’d go cross-eyed from staring at them. I’m also feeling a little stiffness in my joints. Some days it’s hard to get going, my mom wells up with tears, and that usually means we can’t play frisbee. FRISBEE!

It's about time for my nap. My bed is filled with all my toys, which are also my best friends. I’m not much for other dogs, being a “bright workaholic” and all, but as this days winds down, I find safety and warmth, tucking my grey muzzle into my bed next to Mr. Shark and Mr. Hedgehog.

Shehab

I am often asked ‘where is home?’  By lineage and my upbringing, I am an African American Bangladeshi.  I have lived in 6 cities in 3 continents.

Home is a state of mind in time and not a physical place.  Home is a place in time where I feel creative, inventive and audacious, surrounded by creative people and ideas that challenge me to be a better person today than yesterday.

Physical places that feel like home to me are shaped by personalities, tastes and smells.  Through my travels around the world, I have found these three ingredients in many places. These ingredients give me a sense of home. 

I grew up in Nigeria.  My parents were teachers, and in Nigeria I was exposed to an environment of constant learning – languages, music, new cultures, new people and acceptance of those people from different cultures and backgrounds.  I moved to Boston for architecture school. After architecture school, I started my architectural career in Boston.  With my band of wicked-awesome socially misfit friends, I was surrounded by so much history that the town’s pride and culture became a part of my own.  I lived for every nugget of New England’s quirky history and became a Townie Country Nerd.  I took great pride in showing people around ‘my town’ so they may appreciate the town I had come to love.  The town gave me all of the essential ingredients but there was something missing. It was time to move on.

After 13 years in Boston, I was ‘persuaded’ to move to New York City.  I initially missed Boston as I had become part of the fabric of the city with friends, family and the city’s planning and design, but I soon came to find a new deeper love.  I found a place where it was ok to not fit in and not look or be like everyone else.  It was ok to be different.  The city challenged me and I accepted the challenge.  I soon came into my own where I savored every opportunity to break my self-imposed chains of stereotypes.  As an architect and an aspiring photographer, it was important to understand what made me different because that’s what set me apart from everyone else.  The energy of the city had drawn me into an immersion of people, art, music and technology through which I found my identity.  Being different gave me a sense of belonging, a sense of home.

I moved to Seattle about 5 years ago.  Prior to moving here, my wife and I lived and worked in two separate states.  After 2 years of marriage, Seattle offered both of us a place to live and work.  We moved here with a sense of excitement - of being in a city of multi-cultural diversity, a community that we could become part of and yet maintain our unique identities.  Since moving here, it has been a challenge to break through the unspoken Freeze.  It is one of the most beautiful places I have lived, but I have developed little chemistry with people here.  People define a place. In a town where assimilation is a must, fitting-in in Seattle and to call it home has been a challenge. I’m still looking for my key ingredients.  

Not accepting the stereotype, I am still chipping away at the freeze…for now.

***

You can find Shehab online at imaginoor.com, imaginoor.artstorefronts.com, facebook.com/imaginoor

Jess

Seattle, I need to start making up new words to express how much I love you. I’ve given you every compliment in the book, and it just seems silly to repeat myself. To really love someone … to love some thing … you have to appreciate their high and lows, their scars and beauty marks, their constants and their changes. You have to grow along with them, curl into their every miss step and smile and nod and let them just learn from the lesson. 

Seattle, we certainly have seen some things in these past 10 years that we've been together. We’ve been through so many changes. Both mine and yours. Things look so different now: our minds, our bodies, our loves, our fears. But through it all I knew I could always still count on you. That base line of mutual love and respect has always been there, like the love I’ve searched for my whole life. Through our screaming fights - me pounding the steering wheel while road raging in your Mercer mess - through our summery bliss - laying on the beach at Denny Blaine surrounded by the naked bodies of our soon to be closest friends - through every heartbreak, every heart soar, it’s been you and me. My constant lover, my constant abuser, my constant lesson teacher. I’ll surrender it all over and over again for everything you have given me. Everything you have taught me. Every beautiful soul you have introduced into my life. Every adventure. Every triumph. Every failure. Every triumph masked as a failure. Every perfect sunset. Every late night dance party. Every lazy Sunday. Every second with my W pup squad. Every brutal gray winter followed by your glorious summers that instantly make me forget the SADs that just about swallowed me whole. Every. God. Damned. Thing.

Seattle, let's make a promise to each other here and now. Whatever happens next, whatever the next 10 years bring, let's always have this. 

Oritana

Home, community, “my peeps,” unfortunately does not come easily to me.  I was born in Seattle and raised in Tukwila. I love the state I live in. I love the four seasons we get to experience here. In Seattle, I feel there is an abundance of natural beauty here. We have the Puget Sound, we have islands and mountains and year round farmers markets, there’s so much to love about the scenery here!  I love being connected to nature whether it’s through outdoor activities or through tasting it, which is my favorite! This is to say buying locally and seasonally. It’s still a work in progress for me, but I’m pretty passionate about food and I would like to experience it in its most natural state without compromising taste. Let’s be clear, I’m not a chef, just a big fan of food.  One of the first and probably only sentence I learned in Samoan is, “ua fia aai outou.” Are you hungry? 

I am mixed or what I presume the Samoan’s call a half cast. I’m not really Samoan and I’m not really Alaskan Native like my mother.  So, I would say my siblings and I are American, but what does that really mean? We wouldn’t be labeled just American, it would be something slash American. For instance Native American, African American etc; once again not really whole, still considered the “other.” 

Not really feeling like a whole person because I didn’t fit in any group (and it gets pretty interesting when you can’t be labeled) I went out searching for somewhere to belong.  I lived and studied in Paris, France, they thought I was Spanish. I visited Great Britain. I have stayed in Italy, studying the language and studying art, in which they thought I was Spanish and being in the U.S. most people thought I was Mexican. What I have to say about my experiences in different countries is that sometimes it takes being in a foreign country to realize what you are not. I would say I’m just human and that’s how I would prefer to connect with others, not through stereotypes or labels.  With that said; back to food already!

I noticed as long as I was fed, as long as I had food in the cupboard, that was home.  I sometimes think of home as a good bowl of phở or a big plate of Spaghetti or an ice cream cone on a hot day.  I show my family I love them through the food I make them. I love knowing that that the very nutrients are shaping their world view and nourishing their mind, body and soul.  I was lucky to grow up in a household with a very good cook. We got to experience the world through our palate!  We grew up with a lot of Pacific Islander food, Salmon (of course, it’s practically a birth right) Middle Eastern food, Mexican food and even Turkish. I experience life, really, through my stomach.  People say, “Trust your gut.” That’s because you have so many neurons in your stomach that is well connected to not only your brain, but to your central nervous system. Our stomach affects our emotional well being. With that said, being a woman, chocolate is a must in my world. It’s definitely life saving sometimes.- ok, that’s a bit dramatic, but feels true. I’m happy when my stomach is “full.” I don’t mean weighed down by food but more like satisfied. When I taste something good, I dance. I kind of feel like Ego in the movie, Ratatouille, when he tries the stew at the end of the movie.  Through the taste of his dinner he is brought back to a loving memory of him being fed in his childhood home. The dish allows him to realize what is really important. I think its home equals food.  Food connects cultures, people and establishes long lasting memories. 

***

Karan

Some of the biggest corporations on the planet either call Seattle home, or are quickly finding a foothold in this city. Not only are they shaping the future of society and technology, they’re also reshaping the very essence of what it means to be a Seattlelite. There is an inherent willingness to accommodate diverse lifestyles and beliefs, life here is fluid, energetic and tense, and it’s thrilling to be a part of that journey.

Seattle is a city in flux and I identify with that personally. It’s in formation, both physically and spiritually. A drive through the city exposes the multitudes of cranes, construction sites and neighborhoods in the process of transformation. It also exposes the struggles that accompany growth.

On a recent flight to Seattle, a co-passenger asked if Seattle is home base for me. 

The definition of home can be quite mystifying when you’ve spent a big portion of your life living in different countries. Is India still my home since my parents and brother live there? Was Helsinki home where I formed the norms of a professional life? Is Seattle home where my wife and I have bought our first house together? 

I’ve developed generous and meaningful friendships here and met people I admire for their creativity and tenacity. Many of them are helping me shape my own story. 

T.S. Eliot wrote ‘’Home is where one starts from.”  So, in the spirit of moving forward and learning what it means to be a part of this great city, I call Seattle home. 

***

You can find Karan online on Instagram at nigamkaran.