This isn't a real post, but I've been breaking promises.
Have you ever had one of those experiences where you worked very hard for something and by some miracle you actually got it and instead of feeling exuberant you just sat there thinking, "Well, shit.... I hadn't planned on that happening." Well, that's how I feel right now.
A few days ago I was offered a grant writing job with the St. Bernard Project in New Orleans, a nonprofit rebuilds and renovates houses for people affected by Katrina who do not have the money to help themselves. I accepted the job and have not stopped running since. Probably, I won't be out of panic mode until this time next year.
I want to live in New Orleans and do good work. Above all, I want to have an adventure and do something that scares me. The trouble with the last item is actually getting your wish.
In a week and a half I will be in New Orleans. Today I got housing squared away. This week has been a blur of planning, taking leaps of faith, and trying desperately not to forget anything. I'm sad that I'll be missing two weddings and won't be able to visit a friend from Germany. Most of all, I'm very sad I'll have to leave my love, A.
But, then, what's the point of going through life comfortable? One just arrives at death asleep.
A week and a half from now I'll be in one of the oldest cities in North America. One of the meccas of music and performing arts. A reputable hedonist capital. And I'll be there doing what I do best: writing. I'll be persuading people to help support people who have had a much harder, scarier time than me. I'm going to leave my home to convince others that we all want and deserve to go home. Doesn't sound like a bad way to spend a year.