Wherever you are in the slog of infidelity — in limbo, divorced, or draped over your furniture in despair — I have a cure for what ails you. Go to New Orleans.
New Orleans is the one magical place on this planet that celebrates destruction and rebirth. Hell, they have a jazz band named for it. The Rebirth Brass Band. In New Orleans they DANCE at funerals, stomp on coffins, and second line your soul home with a full horn accompaniment.
What I love about New Orleans, and what I hope informs this blog and your life after infidelity — is that in New Orleans, they are defiant in the face of grief. They don’t let this shit kill them. Hurricanes may try and wipe them out, but they will rebuild. New Orleans has made Getting Over It a holy art form. (Oh hey, they’ve got a song for that too, Irma Thomas’s Done Got Over.)
New Orleans holds a special place in my heart too, because that is where I met my husband. Life after destruction is a pretty good metaphor for the two of us. We met at Jazzfest in 2009, in front of Solomon Burke, the world’s sexiest 400-lb man in a shiny purple suit crooning “Cry to Me.” My husband had just divorced after 22 years of marriage to a serial cheater (had no idea, and divorced immediately, but of course was left wondering if his entire life had been an episode of the Matrix ). I was also divorced from a serial cheater.
We drank hurricanes, ate oysters, danced around like idiots and fell in love. This week we’re driving to New Orleans to celebrate our second wedding anniversary.
Before you consider going on Prozac, consider going on an adventure instead. I’m not saying you’ll find a new spouse in New Orleans, but you will find a coffin to dance on. And you’ll feel a hell of lot better.