Getting to Louisiana (Where Things Finally Clicked)

By the time I crossed into Louisiana, I was done easing into it.

I had spent a few days at a bison farm in Alabama — which sounds more romantic than it was. It was quiet, slow, almost too still. The kind of place that makes you realize you’re not actually resting, you’re just waiting.

And I didn’t want to wait anymore.

I wanted Louisiana.

Not in a vague, “it’s next on the map” kind of way — in a very specific, almost preloaded way. Like I had already been there in conversations.

New Orleans had been in the background of my life for years. A close family friend — basically an aunt — from there. Saints vs. Eagles arguments that never really ended. King cake showing up randomly like a seasonal ritual. Tulane stories. Names of streets I hadn’t seen yet but somehow recognized.

It was familiar without being known.

The first time I went to New Orleans, I missed it... mostly.

Bachelorette weekend. Loud, chaotic, transactional. The kind of trip where you hit all the right places and understand none of them. I left thinking, i want more.

So this time, I didn’t rush it. I didn’t try to “do” Louisiana. I moved through it slowly — Lafayette, New Iberia, stretches of road that didn’t feel like they were leading anywhere in particular.

And somewhere in that movement, things started to loosen.

The pressure to optimize every stop. The need to make every day feel productive. Even the low-level anxiety of not knowing exactly what I was doing — it started to fade.

I figured things out without trying so hard to figure them out.

Work felt easier. Decisions felt lighter. I stopped checking and rechecking everything.

It wasn’t a breakthrough moment. Nothing dramatic happened.

It just… started working.

Louisiana didn’t feel like a destination.

It felt like a place where I finally stopped resisting the way I was living — and let it be what it was.

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