Moving back to New Orleans for springtime festival season was an obvious no-brainer for me. While being home in Philly for the holiday festivities, as well as post-Nicaragua wintery blizzard world of 2010, was a gift in the sense that I got to share immeasurable time with my nieces and my folks, it was my age-old “holding pattern” scenario that I knew I just couldn’t get sucked into again. I’m curious as to whether there’s an age limit to the feeling you get being back at your parent’s place and you just magically revert back to early adolescence. Delicious homemade family dinners every night; 200 channels on the flatscreen tv; fluffy pillows and soft-smelling laundry; dinner and a movie outings with mom and dad. I mean, it’s just so comfortable and lovely and easy. But inevitably, there were the mornings that I woke up wondering, “Um, can I really live here for the next six months until I hear about this fellowship gig?” That familiar family place said yes. This is awesome. Time with my parents. Time with my sister and brother-in-law. Time getting to know my nieces to teach them all my annoying habits and forcing them to watch old Disney VHS tapes. No bills, no responsibilities, nothing to do but hang out, relax, regroup. Sigh.
But, when I came down to New Orleans for a much-anticipated and snow-delayed Mardi Gras, it seemed like a sign from the universe when Tulane offered me this temporary job at the Social Work school—a job that would take me through the end of July, upon which I would then either head back overseas or stay in New Orleans to pursue other work. Fast-forward through crazy transition week of the world: bought a car; found a place to live; went to Baltimore for my final fellowship interview; spent a day in NYC with my folks to see a broadway show; roadtripped to NOLA with my mom….and phew. Here I was. Again.
Now, it goes without saying that in my twisted brain there’s huge risk to being where you’ve already been. You’re battling some serious expectations about a place that is incredibly familiar, but in a completely new context. Things change. People change. The universe shifts. But I was thoroughly convinced that this was it—the right choice for right now. All signs pointing South. I could push aside all those nagging thoughts of temporary vs. permanent yet again. So what if I’m moving down for only four amazing months in a city I love? I can handle the uncertainty and live my life. Stop coasting through at my parent’s place.
Well, there’s this thing about New Orleans, see. For anyone who has lived her for longer than, ohhh, I’d say six months, you know exactly what I’m talking about. That undeniably authentic, spontaneous, gritty energy and culture that everyone raves makes New Orleans the funkiest city in America? Well, it’s true. Damn true…but that same energy can turn on you. This city is one moody bitch. All the sudden you look around at the past few weeks and think, “Shit. Can I really handle anything else right now?” All those seemingly unrelated bad strokes of luck—the car breaking down, you losing your job (and your boyfriend…and your dog), finding out you need to get a root canal, serve on jury duty, owe money for taxes…that’s not the universe, that’s the Crescent City, baby. She’s a living, breathing creature like any of us, and this is why we love her. She can welcome you with her sunshine, crawfish boils, tree-lined parks, brass bands and southern hospitality, and she can just as quickly make you wonder what the hell you’re doing there.
That’s kind of how my first month back has felt. It’s been full of ups and downs that I guess are typical of any transition, but it feels different because it’s familiar. But I lived here before, my head says, “Why the hell is this so hard?” It’s hard because it’s different and familiar. Friends have moved on. Work is not school. Gentilly is not Uptown. New roommates are not old roommates. But I feel confident that just like me, she’ll get through whatever it is she needs to get through, and the city will once again magically embrace me with open arms and things will start feeling at home again. They always do. It’s springtime in New Orleans, for Pete’s sake. And there just ain’t nothin’ better than festival season in New Orleans. Yes, indeedy.
