During my first big editorial meeting at Seattle Met, I pitched a supremely sun-soaked summertime story: an ode to the crowded Seattle beach. In a few short weeks, the world changed, and I found myself fleeing at the sight of an oncoming human, seeking out a six-foot buffer. My treatise on the literal opposite of social distancing—though I’m sure it would’ve amassed an admirable number of hate-clicks—fell by the wayside.

But here I stand, at the precipice of the summer of 2023, with a beach towel and a dream: laying said beach towel weirdly close to someone I’ve never met before. Ideally with a page-turning mystery, and a six-pack of session beer, tucked surreptitiously into my First and Pike tote bag. 

Some Seattleites bring a sort of get-off-my-lawn vibe to beloved outdoor locations they see as proprietary. As a magazine in the business of discussing all things Washington, we see this a lot. “Crap. So much for all those nice lakes being nice,” one Facebook commenter bemoaned on our list of hikes to swimming holes. Others plead: “Don’t tell them!” Nevermind who “they” are—or who died and made you king of Baker Lake. For a lot of Washingtonians, nature’s appeal is in its solitude. The fewer people, the better.

What draws me to a day spent at the beach or lakeside, other than the promise of cooling waters and a spectacular view, is quite the opposite. It's the sense of communing with strangers—like in the GA section at a concert, or the women’s bar bathroom at Linda’s Tavern on a Saturday night. The intimacy of having a great time, separately, but unavoidably together. 

Luckily, Seattle has a murderers' row of idyllic beaches right in the heart of the city—favorites that can't be gatekept, like Golden Gardens and Madison Beach. Wade through bell-ringing bicyclists, toddlers with tenuous grasps on cake cones, and dogs with their noses planted firmly on the sidewalk and you’ll find a stirring cross section of Seattle. Maybe not always at its best, but at its truest. 

There’s the group of UW frat bros who put their still-developing frontal lobes together to build an impressively intricate fire pit. There’s the couple whose new love is, apparently, best expressed through unbridled PDA. There’s the spikeball game between a close-knit friend group aging into parenthood, there’s the crew of twenty-somethings smoking hookah, there’s the sunblock-slathered child digging in the sand, there’s the smell of a cookout mingling with salty air.

Lying on a beach towel amid the crowd, fielding stray frisbees and cooing at passing corgis, these feel less like disparate parties and more like one big celebration. We’re all so happy to be here. And I’m so happy you’re here, too.