Crowned in New Orleans

I grew up in New York, raised on Cuban Creole roots that lived between rhythm and resilience. Still, somehow, I always felt the pull of New Orleans. It stirred something ancient in me—something I didn’t have the words for as a child. I just knew. Even back then, I dreamed of finding my husband there. I pictured it like a scene from a dream I hadn’t lived yet.

And then, one random summer, I stopped waiting. I packed up and moved. Just like that. The city had been whispering to me in my sleep for years, and finally, I listened.

The moment I arrived, it felt like the city had been holding a place for me all along. I wasn’t just welcomed—I was recognized. I was home.

New Orleans wrapped me in her warmth. I was captivated by her beauty and her scars. If I hadn’t believed in past lives before, I did now—because the second my feet touched her ground, I knew her. And she knew me.

I felt everything all at once—the joy, the ache, the jazz, the chill in the air. I didn’t walk into the city with naive eyes. Her beauty and nightlife didn’t distract me from her shadows. I saw all of her. And I loved her even more for it.

Because that’s the magic of New Orleans: she mirrors you. She doesn’t let you hide. She pulls out the real you and makes you face it—whether you’re ready or not. And while that might scare some people, to me, it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

But now, I’ve left again. And my heart is heavy. I miss her. I want to go home.

Some days, it feels like I betrayed her. Like I took her most sacred gift—my husband, my daughter, my purpose—and walked away. And maybe I did. But when I look at them, I feel her still. I feel her grace. She knew what I needed before I did, and she gave it to me freely.

I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m meant to return. Not just to visit—but to build. To root myself in the same soil that crowned me. To give back to the city that gave me everything.

New Orleans isn’t just a place. She’s a spirit. A mother. A muse. A mirror. And I owe her more than I can say.

To anyone reading this—listen to your callings.

That quiet pull you feel? That whisper that won’t let you go? That’s your path trying to find you. Don’t ignore it.

Sometimes the place you belong isn’t logical or convenient. Sometimes it’s not where you started, but where your soul feels most alive. Purpose doesn’t always come with a map. It comes with a knowing. A feeling you can’t shake.

Follow it.

Let the unexpected find you. Let love, place, and purpose show up in their own time, their own way. That’s where the magic lives.

Wherever your New Orleans is—go meet it.

And if you’re scared? That’s okay. I was too. Stepping into the unknown doesn’t mean you’re fearless—it just means you’re listening to something deeper than fear. Trust that. Trust yourself.

The life you’re meant for is always speaking to you, even in silence. It’s in the way your chest tightens when you’re far from what you love.

It’s in the goosebumps you get when a place—or a person—feels like déjà vu. Follow that thread. Let it unravel the life you were always meant to live.

You don’t have to have all the answers. Just the courage to begin.

wish you all the best.