An additional bullet point to an already long list of Not Great Decisions was added last night. When the good people at Delta Airlines informed me I would not be flying from the Peach State to the Big Apple, I went to the airport earlier. It did not matter that I'd had enough drinks over the previous 36 hours to satisfy Blackbeard's officers; that I would be flying slightly in advance of a deadly hurricane; that work was cancelled for the week and I did have options for alternative places to stay; I stood by for the earlier flight and came regardless. So here I am savoring the potential final hours of electricity and clean water by election. I very deliberately flew into my own cabin fever.
Does this say something about me? Does this portend anything about my Impending Move? Why would someone insistent on leaving go through so much conscientious effort to return to Rome just in time for its burning?
All potentially good questions. Perhaps the egg is fertilized but not quite ready to hatch. We're early in the third trimester and the womb is still warm, despite whatever acid-reflux tropical storms might throw our way. It may be best to just stay the course until biology and suggested timelines reach agreement.
The question, the deliberation, the 9th hour incident of second guessing, none would be so relevant were I not just returning from the belly of the beast. Not New Orleans, exactly, but Alabama. If my weekend away in Dixie did not make me reconsider relocation, it did give me pause. A little How you doin', as it were. See, to leave the leafy confines of Brooklyn and go to, say, Upstate New York or Providence or even suburban Jersey, is a bit of a displacement. The coffee may not be Stumptown or precision roasted (whatever that is, if that's a thing), but there're reasonably congruent establishments. The people may drive SUVs, but they may not behave altogether differently inside a voting booth. They are different. They are, to me, less desirable. They are not home, but I could live there under circumstances resembling only slight duress.
But New Orleans? My God do I want to hear that town blow jazz and serve me sazeracs until the sky falls. Beyond the city walls? Well, beyond New Orleans is Louisiana. Beyond that is Mississippi and Arkansas. Road trips to Austin are tempting, though that's still a good five hours and there's a whole lot of Praise Jesus in between. I suppose that I'm just coming out of Wedding Season and while still keen on the bride, I'm having some consternation about the bridesmaids.
Or maybe it is the storm. Outside, the wind is howling and the burnt colors on once-verdant leaves will line the gutters. Some neighbors are already flooded and the worst lies yet ahead. I suppose it's apt preparation to stack the sand bags and fortify the castle. Like my future residency in New Orleans, I'll ready myself to defend the precious interior from the Dangerous Elements lurking outside. Certain things we can't control, others we can't avoid, and still a decent number we can place our warm selves next to and appreciate. We can plan all we want to, but the best we can do is just tap our feet to keep up with the beat. Time to put myself in a safe place, howl out to the Great Spirit, and play a little bit of jazz.
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