It’s been well over a year since we moved to our new house, and the pangs of regret are finally starting to ebb. Regrets? Well, yes. It’s my nature to look back at important decisions and wonder. Did we do the right thing? The answer keeps coming up “yes,” but still I have to worry at it. I was attached to the old house and the old block and I miss it. Every time I pass by I feel a twinge of nostalgia and longing. When we were living there I envisioned that was my daughter would grow up. We enjoyed watching the Warren Easton High School Marching Band pass by our house most every afternoon. The proximity to Bayou St. John was nice, and I could go on, but I already aired my complaints. I guess the chief adjustment for me is the old place was more bohemian, and the new place is more bourgeois, and that’s a tough one for me to swallow; but this is all relative, because it is New Orleans after all, and what we think of as bourgeois here would probably pass for bohemian elsewhere.
I figured it would take a year before the sharpness of said pangs would ease. Now that it’s been a year, I just wanted to confirm that’s what’s happened. Pangs have eased indeed. We’re comfortable in our new house and new location. I’m not as attached to the place yet, but I suppose that takes longer, to associate new memories with a new place. Really, I’m not sure I want to develop that level of attachment to place again, but I suppose it’s inevitable.