Final Weekend of Funemployment in Seattle

2026-06-16

The 72 hours

The stretch before I hiked into Park Butte was one of the best few days I've had in Seattle in a while. Friday I sailed to a friend's birthday party at Gasworks and then went to a dog's birthday party. Saturday I paddleboarded with gorgeous views of Rainier with my friend Leah, then swam at Colman Pool with my friend Sarah, where we talked each other into biking the Sunrise Road the next day. Sunday I did it, then went to a lakeside barbecue. Monday I went to the gym, got on a call with a former coworker to talk through negotiating a new job offer, and had lunch at Google with my friend Owen, who'd done Park Butte as a day hike the week before.

Sleeping in a fire lookout had been on my Washington bucket list for a while, and Monday looked like the day to finally do it: probably my last unemployed weekday in Seattle, and a first-come-first-served lookout is easiest to claim on a weekday. I built a detailed itinerary in my Notes app and drove up that afternoon. What happened next is its own post: Park Butte Fire Lookout.

Easier than Baker

Part of what I'm sitting with is how much easier this was than climbing Mt. Baker two years ago. That trip took six months of training, a fundraiser, a guided team, and a 4am alpine start with eight other women. This one took an afternoon of planning and a willingness to go alone. I didn't need a season of preparation or anyone else's schedule to line up. I decided, packed, and drove. That's a different person than the one who needed all of Baker's structure to feel ready for a night outside.

The start of the trail even felt nostalgic, like the start of the Baker approach. I remembered so much of it, and spent part of the walk thinking about who I was during that trip.

The plan, in writing

The night before, from the lookout, I wrote out the whole next day in my journal: wake at 4:30, sunrise at 5, down by 5:45, at the car by 7:30, 8:30 at the absolute latest, an hour to the main road, into Seattle by 11:30, the noon call, then the 1:30, then out the door by 3:45. I was so precise about it. None of it happened. Not the times, not the drive, not the calls. I've never written a more exact plan for a day that fell apart more completely.

The luck of the timing

The other thing I keep coming back to is timing. The same brake caliper that came off my car on a gravel forest road, at maybe 4 miles an hour, over a pothole, had been on that car two mornings earlier, when I was driving highway speeds to Mt. Rainier for the Sunrise Road ride. It could have let go there instead. It didn't. I got the annoying version of that failure: a long wait, a tow, a missed flight, a weird story. I didn't get the dangerous version. That's not something I did right. It's just when the bolts happened to give.

What I'm taking from it

I had moments of insecurity up there too, but they came in waves rather than pinning me down. Mostly what I felt was proud, of choosing what I actually wanted with those days instead of chasing whatever felt more social.

These two and a half years in Washington have added up to a lot. Baker. Friends. An accident, and the recovery from it. Two trips to Lopez. Skiing. A fire lookout. Camping on the beach and in the snow. The Enchantments. So many outdoor things, even for me. I'm learning what it's like to trust people, and to have people who show up for me.

I still slept in the lookout, alone, the way I'd wanted to for years. And I still got on a plane the next morning for three weeks with my family. But I'm holding onto the luck of it more than I expected to.