Juxtaposition

I had one of those days last week. One of those days that really make you think about what different cards we've all been dealt.

It started with a meeting at a new client's office. The organization provides community-based programming for individuals transitioning from the correctional system to society. Programming includes chemical dependency treatment and cognitive re-structuring interventions (i.e. changing the criminal mindset), among other programs. This growing organization is just a few years old, but brimming with meaningful work and exciting possibility. I hadn't felt so out of my element in recent history, surrounded by ex-cons with drug problems and in a part of town that isn't on my usual commute. But a person never feels so alive as when they're outside of their comfort zone. The commitment of the staff and clients was palpable. It was intoxicating to see and feel what good things people can do when they care and focus and work together.

At the end of the day, I picked up three kids to see the "Little House on the Prairie" musical at the Guthrie Theater. They all live in the neighborhood and are extremely well-adjusted, delightful children. We strolled around the world-class venue, taking in the views of the river and the city. We sat in cushy seats and behaved like our parents taught us. We treated ourselves to cookies and colas at intermission. And I reminisced about my childhood on the farm, describing the fields of wheat and my gentle pony, on the drive home along the Mississippi River. Their parents were at the door to greet them when we arrived, eager to welcome them home and ask how their evening was. It was a picture perfect ending. Or maybe it was just normal.

It's hard to believe how much absolute dysfunction there is in the world. And how hard people struggle to get out from under it. Sometimes it takes a so-called normal experience to remind us of that.

Six Days in New Orleans

I would never pretend to have any insights on post-Katrina New Orleans that haven't already been considered, researched and analyzed by dozens of people. My impressions of the city are based on a six day visit, three of which were filled with my friend Lauren's wedding activities. But even within that short period of time, you have the distinct feeling that you're not in Kansas anymore.

My seatmate on the flight there set the stage for the experience, describing the post-Katrina mix of chaos, disinterested concern for neighbors, and absolute distrust of strangers in a way that Hollywood would envy. A massage therapist, the most optimistic of professions in my view, glowed as she described the positive changes that have come about since Katrina. And another local gave explicit instructions and directions for safely walking back to the hotel.

Maybe it's the fact that people felt inclined to explain anything at all about their city that struck me. It's immediately apparent that trauma beset this community and many others along the Gulf Coast in a way that's unparalleled in the modern history of the U.S., with the obvious exception of the events of September 11th. Even as recently as September 2008, the Journal of the American Medical Association reports that Katrina's mental health impact lingers as patients face a shortages of facilities and clinicians.

It makes a person realize how vulnerable humanity really is.