I grewup in Small Town, USA. The people wholived there were complex, and simple, and wonderful, and awful in the way onlysmall towns can be. Growing up, I alwaysfelt like an outsider looking in. I sawfriendships form that I should have included me. I saw causes and stands made that should havebeen my causes and my stands. And when Ilooked at my wonderful, crazy, and very beautiful family, I wondered why I wasa part of it. I never felt at home in myhome. I never felt at ease in myskin. And I never felt like I was givingthe world all that I could offer it. This may have been because I was gay, and being gay—especially in SmallTown, USA—meant being an outsider. Itmight have been because of some kind of ambition that fought with my internallaziness. Or it might have
I firstmoved out at nineteen. And then, when Iwas twenty, I moved to Europe to be with a boy. That went as well as you might think it went, and so I moved back inwith my parents when that European experience went sour. But I moved out as soon as I could. Being at home, for me, isn’t the same as itis for my brothers (who are so at ease being at home, they have no compunctionto move out, let alone to raise their children anywhere other than my parents’house). I have an ingrained need to bemy own person, to be other than my family. Don’t get me wrong. I love myfamily very much, but I need them to be my background, my foundation. They are the place I come from so that I cangrow from them. And I did have a driveto grow from them.
When I wastwenty-one, I moved from an amazing rental house I was living in with threeother roommates, two of which are very good friends of mine. I had had enough of the small town, and Iwanted more from life than Sandpoint, Idaho could offer to a young gay guy inthe year 2000. I wanted the big bang ofa city, but not too much bang. So whenmy friend, Carr, offered me a place to sublet in her apartment in Seattle, Ijumped at the chance, and made the move of my lifetime.
I movedto the city.
On thethird day of the ancient Greek month Skirophorion,the people of Athens celebrated a festival in honor of their patron Goddess,Athena Polias—Athena of the city. InSeattle, I became Frank Polias—Frank of the city. I worked in a shop on the corner of 5thand Pine. I made my home in the U-district. I drank vanilla breve lattes like they weregoing out of style. And I fell into theGap and started rocking tight, black, ribbed sweaters. I saw Seattle for all its worth, its possibilities,its seediness, and its triumphs. I fellin love in Seattle, and I did the most Seattle thing one could do: I moved with my love to a small farm outsideof Seattle.
I mademany wonderful memories on that little, two-bit farm. But now I am back in a city. This time, the city is Tacoma. But I want to do this city living justice bywriting about it in my blog. I am goingto be Frank Polias, again, and I am going to harness all my identity as anoutsider looking in to give my blog a taste of Tacoma the way I see it. Each week, give or take a week, I plan onwriting up my experiences with T-town and publishing a blog about it. Athena Polias willing, I will give to you myinsights and observations in a yummy little funny story for all of you to eatup and enjoy. I thank you in advance andlook forward to our future correspondences.
