Alan Gutierrez

In response to Bart Everson’s post Ugly, I considered the following. In addition, it might be further consideration about the nightmare I had, where I’d found I’d returned to Michigan to live. A Michigan booster addressed me in the comments, and I’ve neglected to respond.

I have a very confused sense of place. I live in New Orleans. I cannot leave. I cannot live anywhere else. I had a conversation recently, where I was asked how long I plan to say in New Orleans. I said I plan to die here, so the duration is any one’s guess. The follow up was a request to give three reasons why.

1. I am unemployable anywhere else.
2. I have absolutely no means by which to leave New Orleans.
3. After two weeks in any other city I am profoundly depressed. Since living in New Orleans this is much worse, because I am aware of the depression.

Which is to say that I am trapped in New Orleans.

Yet, I am delighted to be trapped in New Orleans, since it gives me the sense of place, and an entitlement to that sense of place, that I did not have before.

There is no sense of place to which I can return, no place to return. I am from Detroit originally, but my family left in 1976 when I was four. If I say that I’m from Detroit, people in the know will ask, are you really from Detroit? Which is to ask, which suburb of Detroit do you come from? By taking part in the economic evacuation of the Motor City, I’ve relinquished my claim.

I am from Huntington Woods, a suburb of Detroit. A nice suburb, but there is no sense of place. It is lovely housing stock, but it is housing, only housing. There is no place to return, no place to visit. Scotia Park? Burton Elementary? I sat in the park across from my childhood home a few years back, and was concerned that I’d get reported for loitering.