> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://www.themariejohn.com/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # Home is Where the Heart Is - URL: https://www.themariejohn.com/home-is-where-the-heart-is/ - Published: 2025-01-26T18:16:32.000Z - Updated: 2025-01-26T18:16:32.000Z - Description: I just want to go home. - Author: Soul x SWMarie ✨ - Tags: Newsletter, #Migrated-1791144068973, #Import 2026-10-04 20:05 Before I moved to New Orleans in 2020, I was just like everyone else. Mardi Gras, French Quarter, fun all the time, alcohol on every corner, people always dressed up and shouting, having a great time, jazz music, great food. The list goes on. That’s what I was expecting and looking forward to when I moved. I was also so excited to just get away from Houston and experience my husband’s hometown with him. It was time for a change—for me and my son, who was 4 years old at the time. I moved in February 2020, and as we all know, that was about a month before the pandemic struck the nation. All the fun festivals, being able to sit and eat comfortably at a nice place, hanging out at different spots—all of those dreams came to a screeching halt. Next thing we knew, breaking news hit: a new virus was out and spreading quickly across the country. It left us in a place of confusion and worry. Everything about New Orleans that I wanted to experience, I wasn’t able to. Everything shut down. I remember one day in April 2020 when I went out to Walmart to grab groceries for the family. By this time, everyone was scared shitless—including me. I had on a mask, two pairs of sterile gloves, and loads of hand sanitizer in the car. Yep, I was one of those people. Fear consumed us all at that time, though, because we had no idea what was really going on. I remember driving to Walmart and noticing that the streets were desolate—no one was around. The Walmart parking lot had very few cars, and unusually, I was able to find a spot close to the entrance. When I entered the store, the shelves were completely ransacked. Non-perishables were almost nonexistent, as well as the meat section. I mean, it was nuts. Not only nuts, but it was also very depressing. I knew at that moment that my time in New Orleans wasn’t going to be what I had thought. However, the pandemic may have been the best thing that happened to me. See, before the pandemic and before moving here, I depended on my family a lot to help me—with everything. Even a place to live for me and my kid. I was never really a stable adult. Yes, I was mature, I had goals that I strived for, but I wasn’t settled. I wasn’t content. When I moved to New Orleans, I was thrown into the world, for real this time. There was no family around to help me or save me from a crisis. It was just me, my son, and Jeremy. That’s it. All we had was each other, and we had to make do with what we had. That was me becoming a real, true adult. We had a place of our own, a car of our own, and no family help. For me, that was new, and I had to figure it all out. Living in New Orleans helped me get away from the comfort zone of always having family around to help when I needed it. I kind of grew up in this city. When I say “grew up,” I obviously don’t mean from childhood, but I grew up mentally. I finally became a woman and became more stable. I didn’t need my parents to help me. I wasn’t calling my grandma every other week to ask for a few dollars until the next payday. I began to figure out who I really was and who I wanted to be—and the pandemic really helped with that. Having to stay cooped up at home, I was able to spend more time with my thoughts. I understood myself more than I ever had. We weren’t able to go to the places and festivals I wanted, but we found something better. We discovered hidden neighborhoods—cute houses with little gated front yards, streets shaded with big beautiful trees. I got to see all the coffee houses in Midtown, and even though they were closed, they were so beautiful. Gorgeous little brick, what looked like mom-and-pop businesses surrounded the areas. Big, beautiful homes with huge yards, and everyone who was outside waved at us in a way that showed they didn’t look at us as less than them. I can’t tell you how many times we walked on the levee and got a great view of the Mississippi River. Or all the times we visited Lake Pontchartrain and watched as the waves danced in the distance. One of my favorite experiences was going on the ferry with our car. It was a quick ride, but it was super fun. Jeremy took Jurvail out of the car, and they stood together on the ferry, watching as the water moved in all directions while we made our way to the other side of the river. City Park was an experience in itself. There was a mini-golf course that we used once, an amusement park, statues and art, a Café Du Monde, and a museum. I mean—it’s seriously a magical place. You’d have to be there to understand what I mean. The communities had so much character and nostalgia. There was a park about a mile from where we lived, and it was one of my favorite places—even still, to this day. The trees and houses surrounding the park looked like something out of a ‘90s movie. Also, the park itself had old ‘90s park equipment, and I freaking loved it. It was small but so cute, and my son loved it too. I miss it. Even though I didn’t grow up there, it felt like I’d been there many times before. Like in my past life, I lived peacefully in one of those neighborhoods. I loved how, when we went on drives, we would always discover a new place. Even if it wasn’t much to see, we still discovered it. Whether it was a new-to-us street, a bridge, a pond, a hill that overlooked a few houses, a new park—whatever it was, we got excited just to see something new. Jeremy was the best person to discover new places with because he appreciates the little things and pays very close attention to detail. He will make you see something right in front of you that you couldn’t see before. Everything felt so right. I didn’t need Mardi Gras or the festivals. I didn’t need the crazy rush of New Orleans. I got to see New Orleans in a light that most tourists never see. I got to see the neighborhoods they don’t show on brochures or TV commercials. I got to see the raw New Orleans. Fifty potholes within a mile, litter on the road, kids playing in the neutral ground, trying to take their minds off the way their tiny world looked around them—poverty-stricken areas for blocks and blocks. Seeing the sides that aren’t talked about brought me much sorrow. When you see New Orleans from the outside, you only see what they want tourists to see. What you don’t see are the areas that need lots of TLC. You don’t see the natives that are literally crying out and yearning for their city to care more, to put some of that tourist money back into the neighborhoods and infrastructure. My heart mourned the lack of love and care for the natives. So every time we would take a ride through the neighborhoods, I would take mental pictures of all of those places. Because I pray that one day, the city actually starts to care for these people. I was able to attach myself to New Orleans in a way that most people don’t. Because they only see the pretty parts. They dare not explore and see what New Orleans really is—broken beauty. In order to really love New Orleans, you have to love the not-so-pretty parts. You have to find beauty in the areas that aren’t as well taken care of as the French Quarter and Canal Street. Because the spirit that dwells in those places is an old one—resilient and strong. This place will forever be in my heart. Because here, I changed as a person. Here, I grew. Here, I experienced a new place, and what I saw, I immediately loved. Here, I got to see what real southern hospitality was. Here, I felt safe, even though I knew how bad the crime rate was. It just felt like another home for me. It’s very hard to explain, but New Orleans did something to my heart—and having to move away when we did broke me in a way. I haven’t truly been happy since. I just want to go back home. [Subscribe](#/portal/signup)