I have lived in New Orleans for almost three weeks. I went the wrong way down a one-way within the first hour of my arrival. I blew a red light that I did not see within the first day. My pride took some damage, but that’s what you get when you pray for humility. New Orleans is a sanctuary for crime, and it looks like one. If prompted to title its aesthetic, “historic disintegration” is what I’d choose. The city’s ubiquitous conformity to a style so unique impresses me further when I consider that no one deliberately planned it this way.

My life here feels like Schroedinger’s Peril. On one had, danger is both accessible and unforeseeable. Here, it is hard to tell how safe a location or its surroundings are. Streets look exactly the same but feel completely different, and the radial layout of the roads settles in the mind about as concretely as do the moving staircases in Harry Potter. Additionally, typical markers of safety do not reliably distinguish one area from another. There is no gradual shift from manicured lawns and luxury dog groomers to shopping carts in the road and payday loans. The Real Housewives of Carrollton are separated from CSI: New Orleans by a stop sign. For those reasons, safety assessments refresh continuously in my mind because my surroundings not only constantly change but also would not provide assurance if they did not. Consequently, my DEFCON level has oscillated between one and five like a metronome since I got here. 

On the other hand, my area is safer than the dregs of the city. After all, Carrollton is home to students attending Tulane from all over the world. Top to bottom, Carrollton is like Baby’s First Aggravated Assault compared to the Ninth Ward.

Notwithstanding its debilitating effect on security analytics, the blend of decadence and decay here is otherwise surreal. Landmark homes share corners with crack dens and literal ruins. Ancient chapels stare at tent cities and graffiti. Together, the historic and horrifying overlook roads so unfit for travel that they seem an intentional obstacle rather than an infrastructural stain. All in all, New Orleans is like a beautiful, gourmet restaurant that operates out of a termite-infested building and uses plates licked clean rather than washed.

Suffice it to say that the city has shocked my system, but so too have the students. Law school blunted my desire for debate, and my indifference toward it led me away from environments suited to it. Now voices surround me, and their words itch. But seeking first the kingdom of God does not mean forcing a point with a student by listing off the names of books that I’ve read. It means professing the saving truth of Christ and living by what He says. The opportunities will come, and there is a difference between finding openings and tearing them.

Deo Gratias.