Seattle as a study hall

About a week ago I commented on this post by Bill Gurley, I said “100% Seattle, it is a glorified study hall.” Not as knock about Seattle, more as a nod. There was no better place on earth than building DevHub (and still) in Seattle. I just miss the serendipity of the city.

This is my current feeling as of 2/3/2026…

Beautiful.
Outdoors.
Rainy.
Fresh.
Boring.
Focused.
Freeze.

Seattle has always been described this way, and I can’t get over it. I can’t get over what Seattle felt like before Covid, and what it feels like now. Time hasn’t clarified it for me. Distance hasn’t either. The word itself is loaded. Seattle once meant freedom. Community. A pulse. Now it feels like a place where people move efficiently through their days without ever looking up.

I notice it immediately. People go about their business with purpose, but without friction. There’s little interruption, little randomness. Work happens. Errands happen. Life feels administered. Whether this is healthy or hollow depends on who you ask, but the effect is unmistakable: the city feels quieter than its geography suggests. A coastal city that behaves like an interior one.

There are bright spots. New businesses open. Real estate still moves. People are downsizing from surrounding areas back into the city, which feels like a vote of confidence. And yet, if a friend came into town and wanted to sit down for a classic Seattle dinner at 8 p.m. on a Monday, somewhere between the stadiums and the Space Needle, the answer is strangely unclear. Not because nothing exists, but because nothing asserts itself. The city doesn’t extend an invitation.

Every Monday, I see most of our company on a screen for a thirty-minute all-hands. Sometimes I suggest coming into the office- just for fun, or for an hour. The reaction is immediate. A visible tightening. A shared dread. Mine included. Hosting suddenly feels like labor. Presence feels like obligation.

Do I want to gather people?

Or do I want to do my job and go home?

If the customer is being served, the logic says none of this should matter. But it does. I feel responsible, not in a managerial sense, but in a civic one. As if leaving in 2020 didn’t absolve me of anything. As if I owe the city something I can’t name.

When I’m in Seattle, I’m treated well. I feel welcomed. I’m aware of how lucky that is. And still, there’s a low-grade dread when I return - like stepping back into an old life I no longer want to perform. Not because it was bad, but because it no longer fits.

Time in other places has sharpened the contrast. In Arizona, for seven months of the year, people say openly and without irony: we live in heaven. In New York, despite humidity and winters that feel punitive, people still say: this is the greatest city in the world. It’s changed, but it remains itself.

Seattle doesn’t say anything.

People defend it. They justify it. Or, if they’re new, they experience it as possibility-mist and rain and cold that still feel romantic. But there’s no shared declaration. No rallying belief. The city feels paused, not failing-like a room waiting for permission to make noise again.

Major companies have left. Restaurants closed. A main artery like Fourth Avenue feels strangely subdued. And yet the Seahawks are in the Super Bowl. The contradiction is almost comedic. A city simultaneously withdrawn and successful, disciplined and disengaged.

I feel guilty that I left (even though I did not). I feel guilt even writing that sentence. I would like to fix it, though I don’t believe cities work that way. The pandemic didn’t just empty offices, it rewired habits. Remote work normalized distance. Pajamas became acceptable. Random human interaction became optional. Stability moved behind a screen.

And I want something else.

I want the interruption.

The accident.

The feeling that a city might surprise you on a Monday night.

That exists in New York. There is a vibe in Phoenix. Seattle hasn’t recovered it yet. Or maybe it has-and I’m the one who can’t return without wanting the past back.

I don’t know whether Seattle will change. I don’t know whether it needs to. I only know that it now feels less like a city I move through, and more like a study hall-quiet, productive, orderly-waiting for a bell that hasn’t rung.