The Sound of Belonging

Today is Mardi Gras.

And I miss New Orleans all the time.

I miss how easy it was to belong there. There was no audition. No subtle calculus about whether you fit. You just showed up.

Thursday nights at Vaughan’s to see Kermit Ruffins play and barbecue felt like church for the restless. The room thick with brass and smoke and laughter. Or slipping into the Dragon’s Den for a poetry slam that left you thinking about one line for weeks.

Even the Spotted Cat with its one drink minimum felt like a milestone, though at 23 my tolerance was approximately two plastic cups of wine and a strong sense of self-preservation.

I was not naive. I read the news. I knew the risks. I stayed aware. I once walked confidently between Burgundy and Frenchmen until a retired cop told me, in no uncertain terms, that it was a terrible idea.

New Orleans carries risk. It always has.

But there is another kind of risk we talk about less. The quiet kind. The kind that happens in workplaces when culture fractures, when leadership falters, when people feel unseen. Corporate environments can bruise without leaving fingerprints.

What New Orleans gave me at 23 was not recklessness. It gave me belonging.

It showed me what it feels like to be welcomed without condition. The neighborhoods I loved most were not about aesthetics. They were about people who remembered your name. Who waved you inside. Who assumed you were part of the story.

That is what we are all looking for, at work and in life.

To do our part.
To know our value.
To feel like we belong without performing for it.

Mardi Gras is spectacle, yes. But it is also coordination, community, and shared pride. People building something together because tradition matters and connection matters.

I would move back in a heartbeat if life were simpler. For now, I carry it with me.

The rhythm. The color. The lesson.

Belonging should not be rare.

Happy Mardi Gras. 💜💚💛