Oh New Orleans, you toy with my emotions. So many mornings I awake in a panic, feeling like I haven’t done enough here– hell, I haven’t done anything here. I might as well be in Duluth for the connection I feel here. I take advantage of exactly zero things this city has to offer me, and I offer exactly nothing back to it. I can’t wait to leave, to get to the next place, even while a voice in my head mumbles, “How will that be different?”
Then something happens, something shifts, maybe it’s me, maybe it’s the breeze, the electromagnetic force in the universe…suddenly I’m feeling such love for the city and the people I’ve met here, excited for the things I’ve done and the things I could still do, thinking that OF COURSE I’ll come back here some day soon…
I tried with New Orleans. I really wanted to make it my home base. I crowed about the benefits: a warm, affordable place, where everyone’s a freak but nobody’s a freak. I can make New York rates and pay NOLA rent. I can always find someone on Air BnB who wants to rent my little place while I’m jetting off somewhere.
Turns out, there’s more to a home base than that. I haven’t spent more than 90 days straight in New Orleans in the past 2 and a half years. Every time I come back, I feel like I’m starting over. I’m always a little slow to settle into a place, and here I had to settle in over and over and over again.
Four more days and I’ll be on the road, nothing holding me here. Sad, sure. Relieved, sure. New Orleans is something to me, but I don’t think I treated her right.