We’re back. But then, we’re not really back back. Not yet. Because we don’t have an apartment and we haven’t started going to our jobs. We haven’t rejoined the stream, so to speak. Of course, this is by design. Because we just got back. We need a cushion, to sort things out. Like, what furniture did we give away anticipating finally making an upgrade? And, how are we supposed to commute to our jobs? And then, on a slightly different level, how are we supposed to get used to having less free time? I’m talking radically less free time, which, during this sabbatical, has been our biggest asset, the one thing we have had in abundance at nearly all times. It has meant that we don’t think twice about taking the slowest way to get somewhere (the other day, when looking at bus routes, Sheena said, “wow Route 106 goes all the way to Renton. That would be interesting to take.”). And we gamely cook elaborate meals, on a weekday. I worry about the transition.
So we’re in limbo. No longer traveling, but not back yet. It’s not the most comfortable position to occupy, but it’s not uninteresting. For one thing, I am confronted with the way that our lives have become increasingly scheduled. Our free time, increasingly scheduled. Question: is it free time if it all has to be scheduled? Is it free time if you have to make dinner plans more than a month out, like a dentist appointment? I get it, everyone is busy. We all want to make sure that we can accomplish as much as possible in the times that we aren’t dedicating ourselves to something we have to do. But from my perspective it seems to have reached overwhelming levels. Is there any time when we (collectively) aren’t doing something anymore? Like, no television, no movies, no podcasts. Just sitting, thinking, maybe allowing a little music. I did feel this way before we left, always weary of scheduling too many social calls during a week, always wondering how I could increase the presence of silence in my life. But when you have been away for so long the contrast upon returning is stark.
I recently read a book called “Hanging Out” by Sheila Liming. Taking two minutes to read reviews of the book and you will probably determine that it isn’t worth your time. I’m not sure it was worth mine. I didn’t like it very much. But there is a peculiar thing about reading: you don’t actually have to like something (or agree with something) to get something out of it. In fact, if you are constantly thinking about why a book is wrong, or how a book is unfocused, or what points a book misses, then you are also being forced to think about the subject and you might make some progress in understanding it. And that’s about the sum of how reading “Hanging Out” went for me. The concept of a “third place,” which, having worked in urban design-adjacent fields for a little while now, is not a foreign term to me, was discussed, and I found myself thinking about how this may have contributed to our time in the wonderland that is called Sevilla.
Since leaving that city, I have periodically thought back to it with great fondness. Not because I particularly liked the physical city (although it was nice), or the food (also nice), or the weather (once again, pretty nice), but because of the social scene that we somehow found ourselves inserted into, thanks to our friends. We were graciously invited to every social gathering that was occurring amongst their group, which included watching soccer matches, going to regular bar hangouts, eating random meals, having random beers, and traveling to nearby cities on the weekend. This felt gracious because we don’t speak Spanish perfectly and there was always something a little halting and disjointed about our communication when we hung out. But I don’t think we were a burden to them. And with the rare exception of one trip to Jerez, I’m not sure they planned anything specifically to entertain us. We were just included in what was already happening. And this was what was marvelous, because it turns out that Sevilla is basically one giant third place. As they said at the time, “we live in the streets.” And you can do this, in Sevilla, because it has an abundance of cafes with huge amounts of informal seating in public spaces, because the food and drink is quite cheap, and because the weather is (with the exception of summer) mild and warm. The knock-on effect, it seemed, was that it was easy to gather people together in a much more relaxed, much more informal way, such that the addition of extra people, whether they were foreigners or not, was nothing out of the ordinary and didn’t change the formula.
It would be interesting to see Jaime and Pilar’s Google calendars, to see if they have any social events noted on them. Why would you need to if you know that on Fridays at 2pm you meet at a certain bar, a bar that has been there for 50 years, on a plaza that has been there for 400 years, a steady and reliable place that will not change anytime soon, which affords cheap beverages and ample seating and, most importantly, shade. And why would you need to note that for every Sevilla FC match you will be hosting people on your azotea, where light tapas will be provided and where litros of Cruzcampo will be brought for sharing. And why would you need to note that you will be going to a certain bar on the plaza next to Las Setas, on a certain night, when you could easily just respond to your friend’s text message that you receive when you are already there, letting them know where you are, and than they will just pop over for a quick drink later, because basically everyone you know lives within walking distance of the city center.
Perhaps I’m thinking that the shape of this city, and most US cities, is to blame for our predicament. While being relatively easy to get around, Seattle is still far larger than it needs to be, and far less dense than it could be. We keep finding our friends moving to outlying neighborhoods, which necessitates planning hangouts because we would otherwise never find ourselves there by happenstance. And for all the parks and waterfront that we have here, it still seems like there isn’t enough places to go where one can cheaply meet up and shoot the shit, especially in bad weather. Our cafe culture is abysmal, our restaurants are expensive, and our public seating (and bathroom) situation non-existent. Amazingly, I think back to all those popular indoor malls with obscene amounts of cheap food, which were so popular in Asian and Australian cities, and think that that would be an improvement. I have said to Sheena that I would like to find a way to keep unstructured, unscheduled time in our lives. Again and again we have found that there are rewards for doing this, mostly in the area of self-reflection. But we can’t avoid the scheduled nature of social hangouts in this city (we already have something booked for a weekend in June!). I like the idea of being a regular somewhere, of having a certain night where we always go to a certain place. And I like the idea of trying to become better friends with the people who live closest to me. We are moving back to the same neighborhood that we have always lived in, so it seems that these are goals that are within reach.
In the meantime, I continue to live in this state of limbo, a state that Julien Gracq says affords “imaginative communication with reality,” and I continue to try and profit by it.
The Wongenbergs 