“Someone suggested there’s an incomplete part of our chromosomes that gets repaired or found when we hit New Orleans. Some of us just belong here,”  (John Goodman).

Once upon a time, on a breezy spring night seven years ago, I stepped off the platform of a 27 hour train ride and was hit with the distinct eau de New Orleans : wilting Confederate jasmine and garbage.

And like lightning, like a coup de foudre, was floored. Suddenly. Forcefully. A bolt so sudden and so compelling I decided in that moment, right then and there, that somehow, someway, I would wind my way back here. Back to this swampy bayou city. Back to this place that captured my heart instantaneously.

Seven years ago, I realized New Orleans was my spot. My spirit city.

And then I up and left it.

Twice.

***

It took me 4 years, 3 continents, 8 addresses, and a gazillion miles to get back to this place.

And now I’m up and leaving.  Again.

***

My dad says it’s because the bottoms of my feet are actually lined with wings– that whenever I get itchy, feel antsy, my winged-feet become re-activated. Recharged.

My horoscope says it’s because I’m a fire-blooded Sagittarius and am wired for movement.

One of my brothers says it’s because I’m a commitment-phobe.

Which are all true, to some extent.

But honestly, I hate saying goodbye.  And I hate leaving people– and places– behind.

I hate feeling like I don’t have enough time to say goodbye, that I leave people hanging, that I wasn’t thoughtful enough or kind enough or loving enough or bold enough.

I hate feeling haunted by shoulda-coulda-wouldas.  I hate feeling like I have split and horcruxed myself into so many different pieces scattered over so many different places. 

Which makes leaving New Orleans especially difficult: I thought, at long last, I had found a place to come back to.  A place– and a people– that I wanted to call home.

And now here I am, leaving.

Again. 

And my heart has started doing this weird panging thing.

Again.

***

To be abundantly clear, I am leaving of my own free will— I am leaving to pursue something I WANT to do.

I will be growing my brain– so much!

Exploring a new city– with public transportation!

Becoming a student again– at a really awesome and amazing graduate school!

Delving deeper into this idea of being both an educator and a social worker!

LEARNING!

And I am so so SO excited.

But every so often, I feel so so SO sad.

Because leaving New Orleans feels like leaving my heart behind.

All of my sparkly, glittery, joy-filled heart. 

***

A few weeks ago, a friend asked:

“How are you going to say goodbye to an entire city?!”

To which I responded by flopping onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, and playing Bon Iver on repeat.

Somewhere between eating Nutella out of the jar watching “10 Things I Hate About You” and going for a long, head-clearing run, this idea popped up:

What if I created a way of expressing all the love and gratitude I have for New Orleans and its people?

What if I found a way of honoring all of the pieces of me that resonate so strongly with this swampy city I call home?

What if saying goodbye became something exciting?

And that’s how this, The June Project, began.