Sorry Seattle... who you are doesn't work for me anymore.

On September 5, 2017, I boarded a plane at Seattle Tacoma International Airport (otherwise known as a zoo with airplanes) to Boston, Massachusetts (otherwise known as enemy territory -- if you are a Seahawks fan, you know what I'm talking about) with the blissful intention of driving into Maine and then New Brunswick, Canada for a week-long vacation.

Last night, I deplaned at Seattle Tacoma International Airport from a flight that originated in Tampa, Florida, having never stepped foot nor passport in Canada.   A week long interlude with Hurricane Irma not only changed my vacation plans but quite a few things on the inside of me that aren't too apparent to anyone but me.

As I strolled through the airport, I felt like I'd landed on another planet.  How quickly I'd forgotten the endless rush that most of those who live in Seattle adopt as if it's the new normal.   As one after the other busy person crossed in front of me, behind me, over me, under me, and any many of prepositions around me, I didn't change my pace. Because, I'm sorry Seattle. I don't want to be a part of you anymore.

I don't want to sigh impatiently if I have to wait 10.8 ms for someone in front of me to move. Not only is that 10.8 ms irrelevant to my quality of life, I may also miss an opportunity to help that "slow" person in front who has caused such an alarming delay in my daily progress.  I might miss the opportunity to smile, and in the process, make sure the smile goes well beyond my mouth and into my eyes.  I could miss a lot of things in the here and now because I am too busy focusing on how quickly I need to get to the there and next.

I don't want to check my phone more often than I take a sip of water or a moment to notice the sky or a second to breathe clean air.  I'll get the extra dopamine elsewhere, thank you.

I don't want to be available to my employer 7 days a week and shoulder the possibility that I'm the world's biggest loser if I don't answer an e-mail in 24 hours or less.  I don't want to face serious concerns about my loyalty if I miss one meeting out of 246.

I don't want to rely on the horn of a car as a beacon proclaiming the importance of my time.  If you need to get ahead of me because you have an appointment to get to, please feel free; just leave enough space so that our encounter doesn't involve a tangle with our car insurance companies.

I have a secret to share Seattle.  I went without internet and the use of a computer for several days, while still surrounded by pavement and cars and people.  You know what happened?  I lived.  Made it through the "ordeal" of loss of connectivity just fine.  No urgent medical care or concern resulted from my lack of connectivity.

Don't get me wrong Seattle.  You are a beautiful city with many nooks, crannies, and places to enjoy that make urban living good living.

But, somewhere along the line, the frantically increasing pace of building, buying, selling, and competing got out of hand and the speed control on the treadmill broke on the red line setting.

Pardon me, Seattle while I step off this treadmill and try to figure out another life that makes a wee bit more sense than the Amazon/Microsoft model.

The good news is that Seattle won't miss me.  Why?
Everyone will be too busy to notice I'm gone.