Living in a flat city: shortcuts, Friday afternoons, and pacing

One time I was trying to explain to my father that I thought living in New Orleans would be a good thing because I wouldn't have to work so hard. He didn't get that, after all, hard work is very good thing. It is a very good thing. The problem is I like to work so much that sometimes I can't help myself and I overdo it. I've sought therapy for this. No joke. I think what I mean is that I like the slower pace of New Orleans. I have not settled into it completely yet, but I want to learn to pace myself.

Take for instance the other day. I was with a bunch of teachers at a conference Downtown. Many of us live Uptown. Upon learning this, I asked them how they drove Downtown. They all sort of shrugged, it isn’t complicated, and told me the most obvious ways to get from Uptown to Downtown. I launched into a long explanation about several of the quicker routes to get Downtown from my house. “So, do you think that’s faster?” I asked with my eyes widening. I mean, by God, I could be saving these people three minutes tomorrow morning. They looked at me puzzled. “I guess so...” one of them trailed off. They just couldn’t really see what the point was of saving three minutes. I got their point.

On Friday, our Downtown conference ended at 3:30PM, and I thought that I better rush back to school to check in and sign some papers. Phil got off around the same time and we talked from our cars to each other. We each had agendas for the second half of our Friday work days. I called the school. No answer, no one to get me the papers I needed to sign. Then I got a call from Amy: did I want to meet her for a Margarita right now? I hesitated—wasn’t it the middle of the workday—and then I said yes. Oregon Amy and I have vowed to take on Louisiana customs. And when I got there, a bunch of her fellow physiatrists were there with her. At 4:15 the workaholic-perfectionist types rolled in. And we had a nice time.

So I have been mulling over this. Don’t get me wrong, I am working at a school that is busting (and I mean busting) its butt to get its building ready for students to come on Monday. Everyone, including me, is working really hard to be ready welcome our students into our community. I have never had such high expectations set for my teaching and my work. I am excited. But everyone paces themselves.

Some people chalk that up to the heat. And it is true that it is hard to move fast in the heat, but we live inside, in air conditioning. While I was on a jog the other night, I decided that maybe it has something to do with being in a flat city. When I took my first New Orleans bike ride, I expected it to be easy. There are no hills. But no up hills in New Orleans means that there are no down hills. My whole life, the terrain of the places I have lived has lent itself to bearing down and frantically pumping really, really hard on the up hills then coasting on the down hills to catch your breath. No longer. In New Orleans steady is the name of the game. I want to pace myself to be steady so that I can keep on keeping on.