For my first post of 2025, I’m going to share something that I’ve been ruminating on for a bit. That is, what does it take for me to feel truly content? Have I ever been content? Am I content now?
To begin with thinking about this moment in my life, I would have to say that I’m more content than I can remember for a very long time.But, I had to really think about it. The things that fulfill me, that feed my soul, and the friendships that moor me far outweigh the things that I long for. Which is saying an awful lot. If I were to think back on my life a decade ago, I have to admit that I was one strong cup of coffee away from going completely off-grid and disappearing from society in a puff of pixie dust. So, what was different then? Easy. I was living in San Francisco after decades as a Los Angeleno LA was home. I honestly had one foot out of San Francisco.from the day that I arrived. I, at that time, was very much suffering from this nagging feeling of being unable to stay. This would not be my forever home, that much was clear. But where did I think I was going to go? Back to LA? Then why did I leave? Back to New York City? No. I loved my time in NYC, but that was a chapter, an era, that I was content to have left behind.
For some years, I’d had this daydream-with-potential-to-become-reality of retiring to New Orleans, where I was born. I had it thought out. I’d buy a double shotgun house, rent it out, and then take over one side when it was time to retire. I could afford this dream. It was a very strong contender for my golden-years plan. Then, Hurricane Katrina struck. The devastation was so incredibly overwhelming, it was hard to imagine how—or even if—the city could really ever recover.I went down to New Orleans mere months after the waters receded, and it left me completely shook. Absolutely everything was covered with a layer of silt. The whole city looked like it was a sepia-tone photo. Nothing had color. There was no sound: with so few people in the city, there was no hum of traffic, the birds had all left, only an occasional strong breeze created any real noise. It was eerie. And with that visit, it became too difficult to see how I could pin my future there…
So, back to San Francisco. Something needed to happen. I applied to one writing MFA program which, if I were admitted, would be akin to winning a $500k Powerball pot. But, a very close friend had just started in a low-residency program and it was a special place and I should absolutely apply. I did. And in this particular episode of “Everything Happens For a Reason,” I was accepted into the MFA program around the time that my roommate sister accepted a job in another state. And that was that. Like a very well-constructed Rube Goldberg machine, we closed up the house in SF and decamped for our new destinations. Mine was the city where I grew up.
Now that I’ve been here soon going on a decade, can I say that perhaps, just perhaps, I will be able to stay? I feel that I can say, right here, right now, that I will.
I think that I am able to stay…