El Diablo is in Seattle

I’m going to try to play devil’s advocate against myself here. Wish me luck!

I have Santiago weeks. And I have Seattle weeks. I’ve had Peru, Colombia, and Spain days. I, occassionally, have ‘on a sailboat in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle’ hours. This is a Seattle week.



I’m not one to make a decision and stick with it. – I remember once in a heated tiff with my mom (Hi, Mom. ¡Felíz día mamá!), while we were gallivanting across Europe, saying, “JUST BECAUSE I SAY I’M GOING TO DO SOMETHING DOESN’T MEAN I’M GOING TO DO IT!!!” Geez! Who do you think I am?! (Sorry, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day. I love you. And I mean it.) Well, I’m not saying it’s a nice thing about me. It’s just something I’ve become accustomed to. I reevalute my decisions, with greater frequency than most, and then I make adjustments when I deem them necessary. For example, I say, “I’m going to go downtown today,” but then I reevaluate the decision and realize that what I actually want to do is take a train to the country. So I do. … What? Sue me.

Okay, before I start getting defensive – I go back and forth between wanting to be in Santiago and wanting to be in Seattle. At first, I really didn’t think I would last through December in Santiago. At this point, I’m determined to stay at least that long. But I still don’t know what comes next. One week (a Santiago week, perhaps with a smattering of Peru and Bermuda Triangle), I convince myself that I am an expat through and through. The next week (a Seattle week), I catch myself daydreaming up a cold lunch on a long-distance flight.

Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing? Are you my mother?? (Happy Mother’s Day!, if you are.)

So, there it is: I change my mind. Today, I was thinking about how lovely it would be to work at El Diablo, a Cuban coffee shop near my alma mater. My beloved Seattle (más) espressoneerism (más) Cuban flare (más) Cuban fare (más) un poquito de Español scrawled across the walls (más) a local book shop next door…sounds like a beautiful thing to me. I’ll be home first thing next year.

But, here it is: I change my mind. Today, I was thinking about how lovely it would be to work at El Diablo, a Cuban coffee shop close to SPU. But I went to SPU for four years, and, honestly — get me out of there. Café culture is fun, but when you work in a place like that, café culture becomes dollar bills and best-foot-forward customer service. And—I know myself, even if I don’t know what I want—and a Cuban coffee shop is never going to be a suitable substitute for Cuba. The book shop next door, that’s the part that does me in. How can I pass up an opportunity to work adjacent to Queen Anne Books? I may never have another opportunity like that one. …

And so, here I am. Still wondering what/where on Earth to go/do in December. I think I feel rushed to make a decision because winter is looming, and (obvio) December and winter, winter and December—there’s no separation between them. In fact, I have (hang on, let me count, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7) seven months before I’m going anywhere. That leaves me at least six months to come up with a “final” decision—which will be, in no way, binding.

I should clarify that I am glad I’m in Chile. I’d just rather be … in another apartment, or in another part of Chile, or in another country in South America, or safe in the Sound, o algo así.



Quote of the day: “I don't think you really know what you mean, Sara Parker...but it still sounds wonderful.”