Six Reasons Why I Don't Hate Seattle Rain [Much]
I'll admit it: when I left my darling Bush Street apartment in SF two years ago, my decision was based 90% upon the weather.
Never before had I seen such torrential downpour nor had I been blown to and fro by such powerful gusts of wind. For those of you who think the Bay has some kind of envy-inducing, always sunny climate like Full House would lead you to believe, let me let you in on a little secret: it doesn't. The weather is brutal, pure and simple. As a desert baby, the lack of sunshine and inability to wear short sleeves in July seriously began to weigh on me, so I high-tailed it out of the city I truly loved to escape the weather I truly didn't.
Flash forward two years later. I've found myself in Seattle, perhaps the only west coast city whose bitter-cold, perpetual dampness trumps SF's. Initially, I found the dreary gray skies and ongoing drizzle to put a serious damper on my days, but after a few weeks of it, I came across a realization: I don't actually hate it. Here are six reasons why.
When it rains, it never pours. I'm pretty certain the sky's faucet has been on drip-mode for the last five days straight, but never once has it pumped up the pressure to full-blast. The rain isn't intolerable -- it's just there. And because it's just there, people manage to work their days around the weather. People jog in the rain. People grocery shop in the rain. People go out about and enjoy themselves in the rain. What's more, almost no one in Seattle uses umbrellas. Which brings me to point number two:
Having a bad hair day? So's the rest of the city. My daily hair routine looks something like this: five minutes of gooping on humidity-resistant smoothing serum, followed by twenty minutes sectioning/blowing out my layers, followed by another 10-15 minutes using a heated styling tool of choice. Finally: a fury of holding spray. My perfectly set quaff holds up all of three seconds after stepping out the door. Case in point? I've stopped trying. It's really just not worth the effort. By 11:00 AM, I still look like a wet cat, but it's OK, because we all do. C'est la vie.
Insomnia? Cured. I'd been popping Melatonin, sniffing lavender oils and trying deep-breathing exercises for months to finally doze off into Zzzz-land. With a cracked window showcasing the soothing sounds of gentle rainfall, I'm out like a light in under five minutes. It's perfection.
Walking the dog is such a breeze. While I love him, our pup is a handful during walks. He sniffs, pulls, yanks, chases after other dogs, pesters passersby, trots, flops and barks. It's unpleasant, and I usually need M to accompany me just in case another K-9 winds up in the pup's line of vision. (He's heavy. I'm weak. It's ugly.) However, now that autumn has fallen, bringing with it steady rainfall, walking time is a piece of cake. The dog hates the rain, so he's all business when it comes to leashing up and heading out. No monkeying around; we're in and out in no time flat. It's fantastic.
Speaking of breezes... There aren't any. Seriously, the wind meter tops out at like, 5 MPH, making all that drizzle seem pretty tolerable compared to, say, SF.
Galoshes. Need I say more?
It's no Santa Barbara or Bali, but Seattle's not all bad. I'm learning to embrace its quirks and idiosyncratic ways: last night, I walked the dog to the mart, tied him up, bought four apples, and carried them home in my purse. #soseattle
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