Where is your place?
Not the place you go to when you get in a car and drive to work or where you end up at the end of the day or where you wake up in the morning– but your place— where you go to feel like the fullest and the best version of yourself.
Friday, 8 pm EST
Text to my “little” brother John: “SO proud of you and have SO much fun!!! Sending you some Jazz Fest ~vibes~ from NOLA.”
I am not at Jazz Fest.
I am not in New Orleans.
I woke up, at 4 am Friday morning, and hopped on a flight to Philly.
And sent the text to my brother from a friend’s sofa in North Philly.
To Tip’s: A Haiku for Bopping
Bass beating fast
Lights go up in fury
Fri-yays, come at us
*Letter left on the ATM machine between the bathrooms and bar. Because, naturally, that’s where people congregate.
Dear Youth Run NOLA,
I have endless, bountiful, SO MANY thank you’s for the ways in which you have changed my life, and most of all, how you reminded why I love to run.
Reminded and taught me that running=
joy + community + endurance + people + glitter + red beans + long talks about zombie apocalypses + long talks about life + singing weird songs + jumping up and down at random moments + race day pep talks + tutus + beignets + king cake + music blasting at full tilt + pride in myself + pride in my team + pride in my city + not taking myself too seriously + exploring new places + putting down roots + supporting others + feeling supported + endorphin creator + ritual + team + family + TOGETHER.
7:30 am: Coffee in tow, I stand in the hallway awaiting the first stream of buses. I can feel my shoulders sagging. Feel my eyes flickering with fatigue. Just as I am about to emit a lionesque yawn, I feel a small body tackle my knees.
“MS. KAT YOU’RE HERE!” roars one my kindergarten students.
WHERE: Live Oak Tree on the Edge of the Lake/Golf Course, Audubon Park
WHEN: 7-something AM, Central Time
Let me tell you a story–
the very first time I spotted you, I was 20 years-old and riding the streetcar from one end of St. Charles to the other. I saw an arcing entrance, palm trees, a massing of Spanish moss, and legit sprinted off the streetcar shrieking,
“YOU GUYS, THIS IS THE PARK!”