A Different Kind of Time

Morning dawned in New Orleans bright and cold. Not Pennsylvania cold (where it’s in the 20s this morning), but a brisk 54. I’m halfway through the trip from LA to home via the train. Nine days to go, nine marked off on the calendar.

I’m still trying to wrap my mind around all of it. Traveling by train for this long is a completely different experience than driving or flying. Someone else is driving, obviously. And it doesn’t have the soulless coldness of the airline experience. It’s slower and steady, and you have time to look at the country rolling past in all its vasty dryness in the Southwest. And to think.

I’m headed out later into a great city that has come a long way back from Katrina, when that scene above was much different, under two feet of ocean and all pretense blown to hell. It’s been a few years now, but the vibe is different than I expected so far. There’s an air of friendliness and joy here that comes out easily. And maybe that’s because they took the worst of God’s fury, and found they were tough enough to embrace life. Can’t wait to see more.