(I wrote this last week and never posted, but here goes!):
If you had told me a year ago to this day, while I was
moving back to Maryland from Massachussetts, that I would be shelling crawfish
up to my ears in my kitchen in Louisiana, I would not have believed you.
“Louisiana?” I would have said. “No way would I ever move that far down south!”
Tonight, as I shelled my crawfish, the past year in its
entirety kept flashing through my mind, one scene right after the next. I could
not help but think how much things have changed in just one, single year of my
life. I finished up with my job at an inner-city school, teaching theatre to
children, moved back home for the summer, and then had a temporary job as a
live-in nanny, made plans to backpack across Europe, and when that fell
through, quit my job, fiddled my thumbs for about a week, got a call from
AmeriCorps, and then it was “bye Safe North, hello Trepidacious South.” And
during the one year, met so many people, made incredible friends, and fell in like/love
repeatedly.
When I first zoomed off to Louisiana on only a week’s
notice, was I scared? Oh, you betcha. I wondered: “Will I feel comfortable at
all? Will I be able to make a home in the South? Can I get over my preconceived
notions of what the South is like? And most importantly: “Will I make any
friends?”
Things haven’t been easy for me over the past week, but oftentimes,
when the sky above me seems to fall, I find the ground I am standing on is
quite sturdy. I find I have built an incredibly strong foundation of love and
friendship. And I realize I find this wherever I go. I found this foundation in
Maryland. In Massachussetts. In Washington DC. In Connecticut. And now,
finally, Louisiana. And I know no matter where I go in the future, the ground
will remain firm beneath my feet, no matter what the sky chooses to do. I will
not be Chicken Little and scream, “The sky is falling!” Instead, I will allow
the pieces to fall where they may, and if I fall…it’s okay. The ground is there
to catch me. If I fall, I will not break.
I suppose my point is, from time to time, I need to remind
myself to not be scared of new experiences. Moving here was a huge leap off of
a cliff for me. I pretty much ran here blindfolded, and have been reaping
rewards ever since.
I am so blessed with all the friends I have made here in New
Orleans. This week, I’ve seen a different friend every, single day. And that’s
pretty amazing. They’ve provided sympathetic ears, enveloping hugs, and warm
words. It is not so much the sights and smells and sounds that I will always
think of when I reflect back on my time in New Orleans, or anywhere else, for
that matter. For me, it will always be the people. People are the reason I get
out of bed every morning. As terrible as humanity is sometimes, it is also
wonderful. A double-edged sword, mayhaps, but out of all the terribleness,
there arises kindness, and people who shine, and truly make life worth living.
I care. Maybe too much, sometimes. But I really, really care. And I love, very
deeply. Oh-so-very deeply.
I can be mushy sometimes, I know.
Y’all know what else is mushy? Crawfish, after I try attacking
them. Crawfish is very not kosher. I mean, first of all, it’s shellfish, which
I realize. And I do realize the irony of my eating shellfish. However, I was
raised eating blue crabs, so that doesn’t bother me the slightest. (Proud
Marylander here.) What I don’t eat though is pork. For me, that is simply not
Kosher! Let me be! Don’t you see? Sam, I cannot eat Green Eggs and Ham!
As I picked my way through the bag of little beady-eyed
crawfish, I realized they had been boiled with thick pieces of sausage. So, not
only was I eating shellfish; I was eating shellfish boiled with pork, yikes! But
I simply looked away and pretended I had never seen any offenders. It sure is difficult
being Jewish in New Orleans sometimes! However, I got them at a crawfish boil a
good friend of mine invited me to, and if y’all forget about all the pork
everywhere, it really is quite like a Jewish holiday. First of all, there is a
lot of booze. Therefore, no one looks at you funny if you’re slightly
intoxicated. Second of all, there is a lot of food. Therefore, you eat so much,
all you want to do is take a long nap afterward. And last, but certainly not
least, there is a friend’s mother fussing over you, and forcing food onto you.
(Which was simply fantastic.)
L’chaim!
Another good example of the difficulty of being a Jew in the
South: during Passover, when I finally read the fine print on the box of matzah
I had bought, (the only matzah I was able to find anywhere), I realized, to my
absolute dismay, it was labeled, “Not Kosher for Passover.” Oy gevalt. And boy,
did I sure schlepp, schlepp, schlepp everywhere to find that matzah. May as
well have eaten bread, I suppose.
There sure are some funny things about living in the South
sometimes. But then again, there are funny things everywhere I live. And there
are also people everywhere I live, and they, y’all, are who truly make the
experience.
