We left our house a month ago. Actually, we left our house a month and nine hours ago, to the minute: 11:55pm. It was dark, we were in a hurry, but we thought we’d be back soon, so we didn’t think about things too much.
Today, it’s a little weird to think of New Orleans as home; it’s almost like we’ve moved. We’ve settled into a routine here, a daily ebb and flow that’s not too different from the one we followed in New Orleans: I get up before dawn, make coffee, check email, do some work, hit the gym, struggle to stay up for The Daily Show, and wake up when Jonno comes to bed. He follows the same schedule, more or less, but he’s about eight hours behind–or 16 hours ahead, depending on how you look at it.
Eventually, we’ll have to deal with the problems of living in post-Katrina New Orleans. At the moment, though, the worst problem of all this–apart from imposing on our friends in Lafayette and living in a state of neverending uncertainty–is the resentment some of us are feeling toward friends who’ve moved on.
Now, I know that folks who work in service and other industries have found themselves in desperate straights. I know that waiters, hairstylists, gardners, New Orleans public school teachers, and many, many others haven’t been paid in over a month. I know those people and their families need food, clothing, and shelter, and they can’t get any of that at home. Logically, I understand that those people have to find work elsewhere to stay alive.
Still, I can’t help but feel slightly angry when I hear of folks who’ve abandoned ship (so to speak). New Orleans was and is a group project. By living there, we signed on to that project, implicitly throwing our hats in the ring with everyone else. We believed we were in it together. Friends who speak of leaving now sound like deserters.
Let me make this clear, though: my sentiments are not like those of Mr. Codrescu, who lamented that New Orleans after Katrina will be a different city. I acknowledge that. In fact, I embrace that. I’m not sentimental about some mythical New-Orleans-that-was. Leave that stuff to the talented people at WYES. I’m not the kind of person to spend much time looking back; I’m looking forward to a new, better city.
No, my sadness is that we’ve lost some very helpful hands in building this new, better city. Things that could and should happen–great things, great opportunities–will be carried out by fewer people. People who could be very useful, visions that could be uniquely clear, won’t be around to offer support and guidance.
But whatever. I’ll get over it. So will everyone else. Things will go forward. No one is irreplaceable.
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