An interactive wall in Houma that I wrote on: “Before I die, I want to define happiness.“
A petite house named “Therapy” in Grand Isle
As I embark on Bookpacking Louisiana, I am on a journey to define happiness. My days in Grand Isle were the beginning of this rather never-ending pursuit. I inspected every person and object through a magnifying glass, searching for bits of happiness and I found happiness sprinkled all over Grand Isle. In my little pursuit, the street names caught my attention first. As we entered Grand Isle, slowly getting near our destination, I expected names with great historical narratives but what I witnessed was rather surprising: Strawberry Lane, Orange Lane, Fig Lane, Cherry Lane. It seemed fantastical as if hundreds of the said fruit would drop from the sky as we passed each lane. Life was simple.
In fact, this theme of simplicity was clear throughout every experience on the island. Almost every house had a creative name ranging from Shrimp Dipping to Therapy to La La Land. One of our main takeout spots was Jo-Bob’s. Now, you might be wondering who Jo-Bob is, probably the owner of the place who has been a local for 60+ years and served the people of Grand Isle proudly for all those years. No, Jo-Bob is a cat. A fluffy gray cat that lives in its own little cat nest by the entrance and who occasionally walks down the stairs to greet incoming visitors. Life was simple.
“The flowers were like new acquaintances; she approached them in a familiar spirit, and made herself at home among them.”
Although Edna was mostly preoccupied with figuring herself and her emotions out, she slowly became aware of her surroundings as well. In the midst of her first awakening, Edna walks around the house she has lived in for years as if she has never seen it. She looks at the world from a different perspective that allows her to become more aware of her surroundings, rather than walking blindly through life. This is part of Edna’s pursuit of a sense of identity much like my pursuit of happiness.
“A bird with a broken wing was beating the air above, reeling, fluttering, circling disabled down, down to the water.”
Edna’s greatest realization, in my view, was learning to spend time alone, self-reflecting. She realizes she does not want to live by societal expectations. She disobeys her husband, exclaiming that she is no longer one of his possessions, becomes less attentive to her kids, and moves into a separate house alone. She finds herself resisting societal expectations, like a bird with a broken wing, fluttering around. My time at Grand Isle was nothing short of these profound self-reflecting moments. There is something about the place, whether it’s the waves that hypnotize you with their calming yet chaotic reverb or the pelicans that fly above without a care in the world. It slows down your mind. Life was slow in Grand Isle. Life was simple.
Pelicans flying over Grand Isle
“The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander in abysses of solitude.”
View of the Gulf of Mexico from the porch in Grand Isle
As much as Grand Isle felt like an escape from reality, glimpses of pressure and responsibility kept creeping in. But for the first time, I was not worried about doing work besides reading. I am someone whom people might describe as a workaholic at times but it was almost like my mind was in rebellion of my usual state. I did not want to work and I didn’t. I just wanted to make my cup of coffee, make an omelet, grab my Kindle, and sit outside and read, with the view of the ocean. This is so not me. My mind doesn’t slow down. In fact, I feel very uncomfortable when I have to slow down. In anything. I thrive under pressure. I am stressed when I have nothing to do. But on the third day in Grand Isle, the sea was calling. Solitude was calling. So, I listened. I took a towel and started walking towards the beach. Alone. As I was getting close to shore, a flock of pelicans fluttered by, as if applauding my strides into solitude. And so, I laid my towel down on the damp sand and I sat, staring into the blue and serene abyss. And the feeling of utter discomfort crept in. How could I just sit there and not think about the million tasks I have yet to finish? How do I silence my mind? I needed a distraction. Of course, I picked up my phone but instead of opening social media, I called my brother. And the feeling of comfort slowly started coming back. But I was too engulfed with the idea of being alone on a deserted beach so every conversation centered around that. The longing for quiet was growing a bit too loud. “I have to go. I’ve got some thinking to do,” I told my brother and proceeded to end the call. I watched. I watched the waves crash in front of me, one after the other. I watched the pelicans stop by and mistake shells for food. I watched the clouds and their pensive movements. Life was simple.
A pelican enjoying the sun in the Gulf of Mexico
I felt people staring at me and judging me. I looked around. No soul in sight. I looked back at our house. Everyone was inside minding their own business. I felt like Edna. Here I was, engulfed by my thoughts while people were watching a movie in the main house, just as the rest of the family was dancing in the main house in Edna’s universe. It felt like a movie scene. I felt like an “other.” But over the past year, I have grown to love being an “other.” It is almost a signal that I’m staying true to myself. I am speaking my mind when need be. I am staying silent when need be. I am disengaging myself from conversations when need be. I’m not sure if Edna ever felt fully comfortable with herself besides those last few moments. I long to not only reach this point of comfort but live with it and figure out its many complexities. Life was not simple.