Two weeks ago, a top-flight team of sociologists released a report chronicling a one-third drop in the number of people with whom the average American can discuss "important matters." The results, summarized in a paper entitled "Social Isolation in America," came from comparing national surveys in 1985 and 2004. The report suggested the U.S. is becoming a much lonelier place.
After reading about this development, I reflected on my own upbringing in Cleveland and my experience in Seattle since moving here in 1986. A polite yet reserved town, many newcomers discover it's difficult to make friends in Seatttle if you don't arrive with an established network.
The report found baby boomers are more socially isolated than their parents, and children of baby boomers further continue the trend. My own parents, members of the greatest generation, were unique in that they wed late in life compared to their peers and didn't have a child until I came along 10 years into their marriage. At the time, my mother was 43-years old, my father 50. Their social circle revolved around family who lived within a 10-15 minute car ride from our home, friends in our suburban neighborhood, church and civic organizations and sporting leagues. Before selling real estate, my dad worked in building and belonged to the United Brotherhood of Carpenters. We patronized a community swimming pool on Lake Erie and a public golf course maintained by Cleveland Metroparks. Both my parents belonged to a bowling league. I participated in Cub Scouts and C.Y.O.
All these activities and memberships connected us to a broad community of people who reached into our lives. Our neighbor, who played bridge with my parents, gave me a ride to school each day. He and his two daughters would drop me at the inner-city Catholic high school I attended. When my mom fractured her hip in 1998, a couple from my parents' church brought my father a dinner casserole one weekend. That same couple, chaplains, were present at my father's death bed a year later, praying with me and my mother when he took his last breath.
Robert Putnam, the Harvard professor who six years ago wrote the famous "Bowling Alone," observed that American communities began to fray in the mid-1960s with fewer people participating in PTAs, unions, civic memberships, family suppers and bowling leagues.
Living in Seattle in the first decade of the 21st century I see many commonalities between the life I lived in Cleveland and the one I now occupy here. While no longer a weekly churchgoer, I try to attend services two or three times a month. I belong to a masters swim team at Seattle University. My partner and I take advantage of a city-based rowing program at Mount Baker. And I live in a condo complex where shared common spaces allow residents to get to know one another. If my neighbor is ill, we will walk her dog. When I go on vacation, she'll care for mine.
All these groups and affiliations provide a center and context for my life, a way to belong. I'm part of something larger and connected to my neighborhood on Capitol Hill. I feel happy and not at all isolated.
But I have many friends who find it difficult to break the thin layer of "nice" that is Seattle's reputation. At first people are friendly and engaging. But, so the story goes, there is little follow through in pursuing a more permanent friendship or relationship. At times, I project the same initial friendliness but reluctance to commit.
During my first five years here I overcame initial barriers and made three of my closest friends in 1987, 1988 and 1991. Kevin I met through a customer service job at the Seattle Times, while Sarah and I befriended one another during a dance class. Michelle and I became fast friends while riding the No. 43 bus home from graduate school at the Unversity of Washington. Upon our first meeting, I liked each of them immediately. But the relationships didn't gel overnight. Each one slowly developed in its own time, ripened and changed.
I've seen Kevin through the death of his grandmother, the end of a marriage and three different boyfriends. I wrestled with confused feelings of ardor toward Sarah when she began dating someone seriously and spending less time with me, and supported her when she ended the same relationship several years later and eventually sold the restaurant she and her partner opened together. I've celebrated with Michelle when she converted to Buddhism and later started her own Chinese translation business.
All three of my friends met my mother when she arrived in Seattle to spend the last two months of her life. When she passed in 2001, they were the only guests I invited to the small wake.
We may not see each other regularly, but through phone calls or e-mail my friends and I keep tabs on each other, and make sure we are in touch and available for the good and not so good times.
Many gay friends lament how difficult it is to meet someone with lasting import in Seattle. They are tired of bars, but still frequent them. They complain that nobody wants to be in a relationship, even though they say they do.
I think back to my initial experiences in the late 1980s and remember dropping by R Place or the former gay club Tugs. Many nights I entered the doors wondering when I would meet someone with intelligence, a sense of humor and some level of attractiveness and reliability with whom I could share my life. I found so many guys would make the initial get to know and then run away. Often I could be the one freaked out by the demands of more than a one night stand.
Now I tell friends, whether they're looking for a boyfriend or a lover, not to be too timid. Make the first move. The action is as easy as extending a hand and introducing oneself. Because I learned through my twenties and thirties you can't assume someone will break the ice. You might be waiting a very long time. Seattle nice, while polite and non-invasive, won't lead to a richer life of community and belonging.
For a city of transplants and singles who are hip, healthy and aging gracefully, but alone despite of it, the time is ripe for breaking patterns and seeking a new perhaps not so "nice" way of relating.
Capitol Hill freelancer Jack Hilovsky's column appears in the second issue of each month. He can be reached at editor@capitolhill times.com.
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