I nearly missed it
Miscellanea #47: How I learned to be proud without trying so damn hard — plus, an assortment of links, sentiments, and lagniappe.
Thanks for tuning in, y’all. Today’s issue of Miscellanea is the first in this new format. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is welcome.
Congress and Dauphine, Bywater, New Orleans
There was nothing remarkable about growing up in a suburb of New Orleans, as far as suburban childhoods go. It was more the manner in which my dad described New Orleans, and the pride I ought to have to be from here, that had me believing in some sort of uniqueness. And while there are certain qualities that separate my suburb from others, they are only the relatable kind. I was not from New Orleans – and for me and my individualistic itch, this became an inescapable truth.
I thought that if I moved to New Orleans, I would find it — this delightfully elusive pride that rattled off my dad’s monologues and twinkled in the reflection of his doubloon collection in the binder in his office at Oak Island. So I moved here — and to my surprise, the King Cake tasted the same it always did.
I was left to question where one finds a sense of pride; what is the function that equates to such richness? What is the roux that I can build my gumbo on? Maybe two years here is not enough; maybe I need longer. But maybe I never needed to move here to have a sense of pride — maybe I only ever needed to inherit it.
Maybe in all my longing to be unique, and have something special, I stripped myself of what was already mine. Maybe a boy from the suburbs — who grew up swimming in floods, building bridges over bayous, and fishing for perch atop concrete tubes at the edge of a drainage pond, all while listening to his dad’s rehearsal of his crescent shaped memories and the pride that accommodated them — has plenty to be proud of.
It occurs to me now that pride may only be a function of time and shared experience. That it’s not something you have to work for, alone and disconnectedly. Pride is passed down, unceremonious and overflowing. Common and effortless. Timid, unassuming pride. I nearly missed it.
To promote thoughtfulness
James Friedman’s ‘Interior Design’ reminded me that anything can be art. An essay on the critters that accompany a childhood in the south. I love a good paradox: an essay that explores how life on earth is both better and worse than ever before. Heavy metal is for thinkers. A detail of three trees and their significance in climate health. When Feminism Is White Supremacy in Heels. Sorry if you don’t subscribe to the Athletic, but this piece on Coach O and Dabo Swinney’s accents is great. And lastly, sleep deprivation in the NBA.
Oh, and the new Pinegrove album is on repeat over here:
A friendly reminder:
A boucherie in Eunice, LA
A follower of mine, Scott Hathaway, shared this short documentary he made on a trip to Cajun country. Documenting something as traditionally true as this, fascinating and brutal as it is, is crucial to our understanding of humanity, culture, customs, and well-being. I appreciated the share, and thought you might as well.
“That’s the number one thing that’s missing from our diets in this country, is emotion.”
Thanks for reading. Be thoughtful.