Measure of a Man/Carnival Time

I’m late posting this, but February 4 was a major family birthday. The 4th is my mother Sharon’s birthday, my brother Mikey’s Birthday, my nephew-in-law Koen’s birthday, and my partner Nkechi’s birthday. I’m not the best at remembering birthdays without digital help, but this one is easy. We all traded phone calls and fond wishes, I made myself and Kechi T-bone steaks with roasted cauliflower and broccoli, and extra crispy tater tots. There was a parade here in the neighborhood, but nobody went to check it out while it was rolling.

At the beginning of 2024, Kechi, Karate, and I moved to Baton Rouge. Kechi is teaching in LSU’s performance studies department, and I’m teaching a guest fiction seminar for graduate students at the English department. Leaving New Orleans has not been easy, for various reasons, but it was the best thing for us right now.

We’re living in Spanish Town right by the State Capitol, and I’ve had a lovely time so far, walking Karate for miles every day. One of the reasons we decided to move is that I’ve made a major life change. I’ve been heavily focused on weight loss after a near-fatal illness last summer. So far, I’ve lost roughly 95 lbs and kept it off. I began losing weight with the help of Ozempic, and I was worried that if I stopped taking it, the loss would reverse—but I’ve been off it for a couple months now, and that hasn’t been the case at all.

 I’m no longer in that period where the weight just melts off, but I’ve entered a phase where I’ll walk 4.5 miles in a day without even trying. It’s a cliché, but the health improvement, not the weight loss is what counts—although I’m going to push this as far as it will go. Part of the reason is I walked Karate twice a day, and I walk to get my bearings and figure out my surroundings and how to navigate, but it’s more than that. I’m also in an intensely creative period as I work on the new novel, and my body seems to ring in a sort of sympathy to what is happening in my spirit and in my mind.

 Moving seemed like a good idea, in part, because a change of scenery seemed a good way to cement the changes in my eating habits and physical activity. I’m doing that thing where I’m slowly fitting back into clothes I’ve kept, unable to wear, for years, but I know that eventually, most, if not all my wardrobe will have to be replaced. Once the larger clothes are gone, I intend to make sure they’re gone for good. I didn’t think I’d shed my skin like this in my forties, but here we are. In the past, the most weight I’d ever lost on purpose as an adult was 60 lbs, and I gained it back relatively quickly.

It’s Carnival Time in New Orleans, my first season living outside the city in nearly 20 years. Kechi and I have visited a few times—last week, the week before, and we’ll be going back next week for a few days to ring in Fat Tuesday. The vibration of the city is something I’ve never felt anywhere else—other places have vibes all their own, but New Orleans seethes with culture and creativity. It has sheltered me and deepened my life for so long. I miss it, and I hope I find my way back there again to live, but I’m enjoying this new chapter of life with the best partner a man could ask for.

I’ve been reading The Reformatory by Tananarive Due, and it is just heart-wrenching. I’ll have more to say about it at another time, possibly in another place, but my God, what fantastic work. I’ve been thinking about ghosts a lot lately—what they symbolize, what they teach, and what they want. The United States has a strange relationship with its past, with its dead, and when you factor in disenfranchisement, a super-culture terrified of looking at itself with any degree of honesty, and the blood that soaks every square inch of our continent, well—you might hear people opine that werewolves or vampires have been “done to death,” but there’s a reason nobody ever says as much about ghosts. If one were numbered among the New Orleans dead, Carnival would be your best chance for existing visibly in the city without causing a commotion. Mardi Gras costumes don’t have to be as serious or well-defined as, say, your average Halloween costume, and there’s still a lot of concealing material and makeup to disguise the marks of mortality. This wasn’t the original ending to the entry, but it’s something that popped into my head just as I prepared to commit it to the blog carousel.

By the way, last time I was in Maine at the Stonecoast Residency, one of the students told me that she reads this blog every time an entry goes up. I honestly wasn’t sure anyone out there was paying attention—let alone anyone I don’t already know. To her, and to you, whoever you are, I say…

Happy Mardi Gras!