Leaving Home to Go Home

“Gate 19 now boarding for New Orleans.”
Right on time. I am always right on time when I’m on my way home.
I sat down, no rush. Listening to a few creole voices on their way home made me tear up, which caught me by surprise. I was so happy and relieved to be going home, NOLA had an emotional hold on me. I was ready, I had been ready for months, NOLA is the place that spiritually resets me, it’s like she calls me back whenever she knows I’m in need of reminding who I am and why I am here. To love, to write, to give more than I receive, to make my mark, to leave my legacy.
I was leaving home to go home again. Cincinnati is always my home, I but I feel New Orleans is where my soul was set loose. Which takes me back to that moment of recognition in Pirates Alley with my beloved.
“I play violin. She’s a writer.”
He and I were both home in the city that celebrated music and rhyme.
I remember very distinctly how he said it so definitively in the introduction. It surprised me that he announced what I had always known in the recesses of my soul. He did not reference my day job, my career, he spoke the words I would never say out loud, that secret longing to write and be known as a writer, and wake up every morning and write, and go to bed ever evening and write, and capture those people I loved in words so that they would live long after they had left this world. To write words that someone might read and know, they were not alone.
We are living stories and writers have the immense joy and privilege of capturing this color of life in black and white type.
Some people see who you truly are and love you for it. He freed me to this public knowing with a simple introduction. And so, when I am in NOLA I always remember him and the gift he gave me. If it wasn’t for him I never would have come.
This is home, this where one goes to roam the wildness of wonderfulness.
You will know home by the pull, the energy, the longing to return over and over again. Even when you are separated physically, still home will call you, in dreams, in the gleam of the morning light glimmering on the patio as you drink coffee, in gentle sound of wind dancing in the trees, in the purity of the clear sky and the luminescent carpet of clouds underneath your feet ….as you fly.


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