I spent a month living and working in New York recently, and I loved it — not for any one specific high, but for how much better my day-to-day life felt. The shape of my days wasn’t even that different from Seattle: I still worked, grabbed coffee, ran errands, met up with friends. It just felt easier to be out in it. More “let’s hit the town tonight” baked into a random Tuesday.
What I’m trying to keep is the state it put me in: leaving the house at any opportunity, walking places by default, keeping a running backlog of things to try, and treating any day like it might be worth doing something.
I’ve lived in Seattle for more than 8 years and I still love it here — the nature access is world class, and I find the city beautiful. But after living here for so long (the longest I’ve ever lived somewhere since before I went to college), I’ve noticed that it’s easy to settle into a routine and stop exploring. So, I’m writing this down partly so I don’t spend the winter wishing I was still in New York, and partly to see if I can make these behaviors stick.
In New York, walking is how the day moves. And because you’re on foot, you experience the space between things.
That matters more than I expected. Walking makes time feel contiguous. You get little hits of texture: a new storefront, a poster for a show, a line outside a place you didn’t know existed, weather that forces you to actually notice the season.
In Seattle it’s too easy to turn life into teleportation. Efficient, private, slightly dead.
So I’m trying to walk more as a way to keep the city “on.” If it’s plausibly walkable, I want my default to be: fine, I’ll walk.
In New York, the whole city felt 30 minutes away. I know it’s the most tired take of all time, but the ubiquity and consistency of the subway was perpetually delightful — I’d show up basically anywhere, ride, arrive. I could read, write, play Balatro, or just stare into the middle distance and let my brain idle. That’s time you don’t get back when you’re driving.
And it wasn’t just commuting. Going out at night, meeting someone across town, running errands — it was all the same. You just… go. No parking, no route decisions, no low-level vigilance. I didn’t realize how much I liked that until I had it constantly.
Seattle isn’t that. Link is expanding and buses run, but coverage is spotty, frequency varies, and for most trips driving is still faster. I’m lucky — I live on a bus line that goes straight to my office and my gym, so I’ve started taking it for both. Some days the app lies and I just drive. But when it works, I show up less scattered, and I’ve already had 20 minutes to read or do nothing. That’s worth protecting.
This was the big one, and it’s something I know my friends have done for years and I’ve balked for a while out of (mostly) laziness. We all have to learn our lessons in our own time.
But yeah, in New York, I kept a list of places I wanted to go (and I made a list of places I did go): coffee shops, bars, restaurants, museums, neighborhoods, specific dishes. It was a backlog, and it had the obvious effect of making me more excited to go out.
It turned “what should we do tonight?” from an empty question into a menu. I wasn’t inventing a plan from scratch when I was tired; I was selecting something I’d already pre-approved when I had energy.
Back in Seattle, I realized how easy it is to fall into the same loop unless I stay current on what’s new. New stuff opens quietly. Scenes shift. Neighborhoods evolve. If I don’t capture that anywhere, I default to the same places because they’re good and easy and already in my head.
So now I keep a “Seattle backlog” on purpose:
And I treat it like an object I maintain casually. Friend recommends a place? List. I walk past something interesting? List. I see a poster? List.
I’ve never been one to shy away from going out, and I’ve been accused of being “high-energy” by friends and foes alike. But even I’ve succumbed to the Seattle-specific trap (which is especially bad in winter): waiting to feel like going out.
Seattle is quieter, and the city’s energy doesn’t exactly do you favors here. In New York, it’s easy to get swept along — there’s always something happening, and it feels like the default setting is “sure, why not.” In Seattle, you can blink and it’s 9pm and you’re still on the couch, perfectly comfortable (and the bars close in 2 hours anyway so what’s the point).
Rain also makes that feel rational. “Cozy” becomes ideology. And sometimes staying in is correct. But sometimes it’s just inertia that’s learned how to speak softly.
The thing is, the biggest hurdle isn’t the weather or the city — it’s me. If I actually decide to go out, there are always places in Seattle that are a good time. Despite my flippancy, there’s always a bar with a vibe, a restaurant that hits, a show somewhere, a friend who’s down.
One thing I liked about myself in New York is that I didn’t feel that complacency as much. I’d just decide the night was happening. Pick a place. Go. I’m trying to keep that: put on real clothes, make the plan, leave the house.
Our place in New York was small and tasteful, but lacking in many of the creature comforts of home. By the end it felt more like a feature than a bug though, turns out living with fewer things exposed yet another obvious truth: extra stuff is mostly maintenance.
More clothes, more objects, more “just in case” adds up. Physical clutter; attention debt.
I was surprised to notice this because my Seattle setup felt perfect to me before I left. My wife and I love our place. It’s beautiful, it’s great for entertaining, the view is good. My eight sleep mattress has ruined all other beds for me. But like anything else, stuff accumulates, and it’s weirdly hard to let things go once they’ve been added to the fold. Living with less helped me notice the accumulation.
I want my place to feel light enough that it doesn’t pre-tire me, and nice enough that I’m not collecting stuff just to compensate for anything.
I’m making a bet that Seattle already has a lot of the raw material for me to build a daily lifestyle similar to what I had in New York. The only real question is whether I keep choosing it, and if it sticks. I haven’t abandoned the thought of moving to New York altogether.