Session is over and I didn’t go to the Capitol once. Not a single time from the day Session began until the day it ended.
I, of course, watched a whole lot of it from the safety and sanity of my own home, but I didn’t actually step foot into the Capitol for the first Session since 2016.
And honestly, I still haven’t really done a deep dive into how it all ended up because the last day of Session was a travel day for me. I traveled back here, to an island off the coast of Mexico, where I have been splitting my time since the 2020 presidential election.
There.
I said it.
I’ve been holding on to that one. Gripping it close to my heart with a whole lot of guilt. Feeling like I can’t be, I can’t live, I can’t write you this newsletter from any place other than New Orleans because that would be a betrayal and I would be a deserter. A feeling I’ve felt—I’ve eaten, breathed and slept—every day since Katrina.
It’s a feeling I’m trying to let go of, but y’all! This Catholic guilt is REAL. It is in my bones.
Every time I’ve started to write this newsletter this week, all that came to the surface was my guilt for not going to the Capitol, for not being 150% vigilant at the end of Session, for being somewhere else, for choosing my joy.
But I’m done with that. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.
About four years ago, I had something similar to a breakdown and the result was that I cried for a week straight. Like I’m talking tears came down like the rain in the Vietnam sequence of Forrest Gump. It was so bad, I had to stop wearing makeup because I would just cry it all off, although I never stopped going in to work—something I’m sure my co-workers had mixed feelings about because, sure, I was a dedicated worker, but I was also a real fucking bummer.
Anyway, there are lots of details I could go into about “The Big Cry,” as I like to call it, but the main takeaway is, after that week, I began to systematically change my life. I started therapy, I changed my job, and I started re-examining my lifestyle. Like I’m talking all the things I had done forever and just did automatically without considering if I actually enjoyed doing them—Saints games and extreme costuming, I’m talking to you.
I stopped spending my Sundays in the Dome or watching the NFL, bc turns out I didn’t really give a fuck (although it’s a qualified fuck because the night the Saints won the Superbowl will forever remain one of the best nights of my life).
I started wearing the same $10 Walgreens Mardi Gras polo to every single parade in lieu of an extravagant, self-made costume, bc turns out I really am just a basic b from Metry and I’m ok with that.
I also drastically changed my relationship with work and productivity and dedicated A LOT of time to laying in the grass and looking at the sky and/or trees—to the point that I got asked multiple times via dm if I was high after I uploaded video after video of a single blade of grass and/or cloud. (for the record—I was not high, but have you ever REALLY looked at a blade of grass? It’s fascinating. 10/10 would recommend)
I wasn’t totally successful. I fell back into a dark place in 2020, as I imagine most of us did, and I threw myself into this work, watching every single press conference (national, state and local) as Covid spread like wild fire, marching in the streets after the murder of George Floyd, following every single presidential debate manically, desperately, unblinking.
And I almost broke again.
But somehow, I found a way to come back here, to Mexico—a place that has always provided solace for me, ever since I came here for the first time at 19 years old. Although it was more than just solace.
After that first trip twenty (yikes) years ago, I went on to get my PhD from Tulane in Latin American Studies, with a focus on political science. My research was based in Mexico and I spent every summer for nearly a decade traveling, studying and living Mexico. I became fluent in Spanish and found a release in dancing Salsa that I have yet to find anywhere else. I found a whole other person inside the person I had only ever known as Marcelle from Metry. I found Marcelle in Mexico and she was just as true to me as any other iteration I had met of myself.
But after I graduated, I surrendered her and my life in Mexico to my loyalty to New Orleans and Louisiana. I threw myself into this work of trying to make our city and our state a better place as I hunkered down for the long haul and stayed put in the swamp. But after the 2020 presidential election, I knew I couldn’t continue at the pace I was going with the rage I was carrying and I instinctively booked a trip back to Mexico, knowing that something needed to change.
This is what I wrote to you via @Louisianahbrah as I waited to board my flight in December of 2020:
Dear Brahs,
Over the course of running this account for the last 14 months, our entire world has changed. I have changed. You have changed. Life has changed. And it has been hard.
But.
In Louisiana, we are accustomed to standing on unsteady ground. We never know what a storm can bring or take away, and it is that impermanence that gives us our joy. We remember that nothing lasts forever and we lean into each other and we enjoy every single second. Because if we don't have joy, we have nothing.
So, thank you for all the joy during this most terrible and wonderful year. Thank you for your tears and your laughter and your passion and perseverance.
I am taking a much needed break from the gram to reset and recenter my joy. I will be back at some point in the New Year and we will figure out where we go from there.
Until then, just remember that it doesn’t really matter what tomorrow brings. Because the ground may not be steady, but we are.
We will persevere. We will guard our joy. We will get into good and necessary trouble.
And we will never say his name again.
See y’all on the flip side. 🦅🦅🦅
Coming to Mexico and taking back the life I shelved so many years ago was the best decision I’ve ever made. I’ve worked hard to restructure my life to make it look exactly how I want it to look in a way that is wildly reminiscent of my wildest dreams—splitting my time between two places so dear to me and writing this newsletter/blog/whatever the f it is and using my voice to connect with all of you. And I am so, so happy.
Yet.
Still.
Every time I sit down to write to yall, I am legit overcome with panic and pressure and guilt that I have imposed on myself about who I’m supposed to be for you and the entire damn City of New Orleans and State of Louisiana. Every time I sit down to write, I feel like a fraud for not being there with you, physically, at the Capitol and in Louisiana. Still lugging around all this weight and baggage and guilt that I have had ever since August 29, 2005.
But enough is enough.
I hereby declare: I release me!
But, more importantly, I release YOU. I release US! From Katrina guilt, from Catholic guilt, from every kind of guilt there is because guilt is a worthless emotion.
We should be unapologetically unapologetic about guarding our joy in whatever form, country or language it comes in. Because THIS is the flip side. OUR JOY is what’s right on the other side of all that guilt and fear.
Our joy is our rebellion and we should hold onto it fiercely and freely.
This joy is what empowers me to do this work. All of that cloud gazing and grass grazing in 2018 led to the launch of Louisianahbrah (aka You Can Ring My Bel) in 2019 and my time in Mexico led to the launch of this newsletter. My joy is what fuels me and prevents me from moving into a place of hate. It keeps me laughing and working from a place of love. It sustains me as I call out all the Little Bitch Dannys of the world.
So, yes, I am in Mexico and not in Louisiana right now because this place is a source of my joy.
What’s the source of yours?
What does it empower you to do?
Besides, it doesn’t matter where I am. Because, like my old love interest in Dubai said when I tried to convince him that I could move across the world and start a life with him (it was deep in the throws of the pandemic, yall don’t judge me), I am OF Louisiana. We are of Louisiana and Louisiana is of us. No matter where we are in the world or in our minds, Louisiana is always right here with us. We ain’t going nowhere and neither is she.
We are released!
SO, at some point soon, I promise I’ll send you a Session recap and we’ll continue the work together. But until then, my dear, sweet brahs, Ima go live my joy and I suggest you do the same.
