I spent most of the week on the west coast. It was strange after a year and a half on the east coast. It felt even stranger after a lifetime of living and advocating for the west coast. I have spent short periods of time living in Washington D.C. as well as New York City in 2013 and 2017, but the west coast has always been my base. It has always been the best coast. However, after my travels this week I can see my priorities and perspectives changing.
The first thing that stands out for me is the weather. The ice cold winters in the Northeast are hard. I still struggle. However, that Pacific Northwest low hanging cloud cover hits hard. I suspect it is due to all of my experience trying to be a human being within Pacific Northwest winters. Northeast winters are rough, but at least you know you are alive—I feel like the Pacific Northwest does the minimum viable to let you know you are alive. Similarly, California winters are so nice and warm that you rarely have any actual verification that you are alive because nothing ever really changes.
The second thing that stands out for me is the diversity of people and language spoken. There is just much more diversity in NYC, and various pockets east of the Mississippi. Sure, you can find brown people all over the west and pockets of black folks in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle. But it’s different. Brown people are ubiquitous in the west — it was originally their land in both indigenous and latin origins. New York is just an amazing spectrum of black and brown that once you get used to being a white person, makes white communities seem very creepy and strange. You know that feeling you get as a white person in a black or brown neighborhood—that is what it feels like to be in the white towns of the Pacific Northwest now. Seriously.
Don’t get me wrong. I still love the west coast. I love California mountains and beaches. I love Oregon mountains, the beaches are still too cold and triggering for me from freezing my ass off at them as a kid. The woods of the Pacific Northwest and specifically Douglas Fir forests are still super magical for me. But Seattle and Portland are definitely losing their luster. They seem very sad and uncaring. The brand of Pacific Northwest rugged individualism litters the street in the form of houseless, mentally ill, and drug addicted. I see the selfish and uncaring within houses alongside the devastated and hungry people on the streets. I know how people in the Pacific Northwest see each other, and there is a solidarity in the suffering and struggle, but not so much that you would actually do what it takes to take care of each other in any meaningful way. You just pull yourself up by your bootstraps—which when you think about more is actually impossible.
I have to note that the indigenous and asian impact on the Pacific Northwest is something that really stands out for me each time I return. Similar to the European and African influences in New York City, the Asian influence on the West Coast is really visible to me nowadays. I also can better see the mix of latino and indigenous in a more informed light after reading more on the subject, as well as getting some distance from the west coast. I see the diversity in asian, latin, and indigenous on the west coast which I did not understand growing up. Reading books, hearing diverse voices, and removing me from the west coast for a sustained amount of time has allowed me to fine tune how I see things out west.
I am still a west coast kid. I still love the mountains. I am a California kid despite growing up mostly in Oregon. However, I can’t imagine living anywhere other than New York City. I also find the perspective of the United States from the East Coast to be fascinating. I love the diversity in people, language, food, and culture. It just doesn’t exist out west. There is a density here that is special. It’s not just New York, but also Philly and DC. But I am currently most captivated by New York. This New Yorker cover posted above hits me in thought provoking ways. Probably not like native New Yorkers or native west coasters would see it. With my west coast experience, but also my love of New York City I see this image of the West Coast from a place of personal care, not a place of selfishness—but I guess they are interwoven. I guess, for me, I know what exists on that horizon, the good and the bad, but nothing monumental exists that stands out for me from my past on the west coast, and I am living in this moment. Which happens to be a very east coast moment.
