You know, I would think that drivers in a place that sees as much rain as Seattle would be better about driving in the rain.

Granted, I’ve only lived in the Puget Sound area for going on six months now, but as we charge headfirst into fall with all of the subtlety of a Space Needle decked out in pulsating rainbow-colored christmas lights synched to a kidney-rattling EDM beat, the onset of early morning rain and the absolute unfettered carnage it wreaks on the commute is astounding.

Now, before coming to Seattle, I lived in a fairly dry place. However it wasn’t like drivers there had never heard of rain. The rain could be falling sideways in 40 mile sustained winds as drivers zipped between lightning strikes and tornadoes, and many drivers would never blink an eye. So seeing how traffic slowed, even as a squall line blew through Tukwila while I was trying to get to Mountlake Terrace up I-5 recently, was very surprising.

That one word, to be honest, has been the story of my life since I arrived here at the start of May. Surprising.

Before I moved out here, I was speaking with a state legislator in my old home state, a place I dare not name because some people are still sore about a certain team of professional basketball players moving out that-a-ways, but really, come on, it’s been seven years already.

We were chit-chatting about my impending relocation, he slapped me on the back, and said that coming out to Seattle would be good for me. I could “be with my own kind.”

I’m still not exactly sure how to feel about that.

What I’ve found, though, is a place that this gentleman may find to be more familiar than he thought. The raging debate regarding I-594, a measure I thought would pass handily in Stereotypically Liberal Washington™, has honestly caught me off guard. Listening to media reports trickling out across the nation, I expected to find a city and a community wrapped in a persistent morning fog composed of at least 80 percent pot smoke. The amount of resistance in regard to the zoning for legal pot businesses has been, frankly, amazing to me.

Heck, part of me thought that when I got out here, my diet would consist primarily of sustainably-harvested fish, locally-sourced kale chips and fair-trade quinoa.

I suppose that is what I get for buying in to the stereotypes.

That is what I think is Seattle’s true identity: not the Emerald City, not the Jet City, but “The City of Surprises.”

However, at about 1 a.m., coming down I-5 returning from Mountlake Terrace, crossing the Ship Canal Bridge, I got my first clear view of the city at night. That is the moment I saw Seattle in her full, glistening glory, and I gave it one more name.

“Home.”

Reporter’s Notebook is an occasional feature in the Issaquah & Sammamish Reporter by staff writers. The views are their own. Bryan Trude can be contacted at 425-391-0363, ext. 5054 or via email at btrude@issaquahreporter.com.