Dear NOLA,
I miss you, more thank I’ve ever missed anywhere before. I keep trying to pin point what I miss most about you, but can’t narrow it down to one thing…
I miss your people, you’re community…. The way they go out of their way to give you directions if you just look confused or lost. The way they’ll talk your ear off on the bus/streetcar. The way they make you feel welcome no matter where you are. The way they wave at you, say hello, or smile when you pass them on the street. The way they work together, no matter what, to achieve as much as they can. I miss the way they made us feel like we belonged, never judging us for who or what we are, appreciating us for more than I think we gave them.
I miss your spirit… The way you don’t give up, even when others who should support you actually let you down. People keep saying you’re doomed, but you’ve really got that morale to keep pushing, to keep giving the best. You really don’t let others bring you down, and I find that super admirable.
I miss your music… The way it would (physically) fill the van, or just make you dance when you’re walking down the street (maybe that was the drive-thru daiquiris). The way it would put smile on your face to see someone happily play on the sidewalk, or watch an entire crowd of people swarm a band parading down the street. You’re music really helped me connect with you and understand you so much more.
I miss your air, your water… It all just felt so right. Even on those hot and humid days, I just wanted to be outside, the sun beating down on my skin breathing in your southern Louisiana air. I miss waking up on my top bunk with the feeling of utter excitement, each and every day. I miss the fifteen passenger vans, the group check-ins, drinking beers in the Laundromat, waiting for the bridge to go back down after a boat passed, the freeze-pops in the freezer at the Green Project, the lovely ladies from Americorps we met at the Dellavalle’s house, the motivating feeling of the “assembly line” moving bags of clothes into the warehouse, learning random tidbits of information on a drive somewhere, being absolutely shocked at seeing something such as waterline marks on a house….
I miss the way everyday you taught me something new about myself, and about life in general. You made me realize, no matter what, it’s worth it for me to push to be the best person I can be. It’s worth it to be constantly be challenging things. You made me realize who I want to push to be, and where I want to push to go.
Everyday I miss you, and know I left a bit of my heart with you. I think about you all the time. I thought I would start to miss you less and less as the days passed, but that’s hardly the case.
I cannot wait see you again, and I promise that will be as soon as possible.
Love Shannon K.
[...] But the only way to really understand is to be present in the city and to absorb all it has to offer. And all of you were sooooo present in your experience in a way that is likely rare for more visitors (or even for any of us when we travel elsewhere). It is this act of being present, of being open and engaged that likely has created the most impact upon you. In your reflections I hear your uncertainty in trying to explain –or even in trying to figure out– how the experience changed you. Last year, Shannon K., a colleague of yours in the NOLA All-Stars post-CINT 912 experience, summed this up so well in her Love Letter to New Orleans. She wrote, “I miss the way everyday you taught me something new about myself, and about life in general. You made me realize, no matter what, it’s worth it for me to push to be the best person I can be. It’s worth it to be constantly be challenging things. You made me realize who I want to push to be, and where I want to push to go.” (Read more at http://toronto2nola.wordpress.com/2011/06/30/a-love-letter/) [...]
So moving, Shannon.
This is beautiful. As a 46 year, 3rd generation native, I totally understand everything you have written and feel the same way. Please visit often. New Orleans loves love!
So lovely Shannon…a great tribute.