Tonight,

Today was the first day I saw the power of the community here at Hands-On. I've been here for almost two weeks, and this place has become more familiar. Specifically, the people that were just faces when I arrived now have identities and unique qualities. They've become friends, and I care about a lot of them.

Tonight many of these volunteers had to say good bye, and it was one of the most moving experiences since my time here. Hands-On New Orleans has a strong relationship with Americorps, and there are shifts of teams that come through for two months of their ten month program. This group arrived in early October and their leaving tomorrow, and as is Hands-On tradition, the night before someone leaves they are given the option of standing up and speaking.

The air in the dining hall was quiet and heavy when the Americorps volunteers stood up to mark their farewell. They had become a force at Hands-On. They were all eager and interesting, they were all team leaders, but most importantly they had, with the exception of a few long term volunteers, been here the longest, which meant they've had the most time to forge a relationship with Hands-On and it's city.

They decided to speak in order of oldest to youngest, figuring a forced order would be easier. From the oldest, Kyle, to the youngest, Jennifer, they had the absolute attention of everyone in the dining hall. Some speeches were funny, some were heartbreaking, some were utterly poignant, but what struck me was that they were all unique. Each person had something different to say about their experience here, which made me realize, and a point which a few of the volunteers commented on, the time spent here is so rich and full of experience and friendship and enjoyment. I saw these people standing, speaking slowly, forcing themselves not to cry, looking awkward, shuffling their feet, not knowing what to say, laughing because they didn't know what to say, laughing so other people would laugh, laughing so it was easier not to cry, and I developed an incredible appreciation for what you can accomplish in your time volunteering here. Though every person had a unique perspective on their time here, each came away with one key sentiment: that we are here because we want to help people, and that this is an incredibly special quality.

One of the girls leaving stood up and brought up a point that I've been thinking about since she spoke. She encouraged us to think about our New Orleans environment after we've left Hands-On. She told us that blue tarps, moldy houses, and piles of debris are all around us, and so we are aware of it all, but that the rest of the country is not. And we can go home and tell people about the things we see here, but that ultimately, even if they think about the things for you tell them for an hour, for a night, they won't be moved by the devastation down here, moved by the work that needs to be done, moved by the work that does need to be done. She had no solution, but she begged anyone returning home to try their hardest to make people think about New Orleans, to care about the blue tarps and moldy houses and piles of debris. This is the future job for former Katrina Volunteers. We are a small group that cares about changing the Gulf Coast, but the big challenge is making the rest of the country care.

I thought about Trenton, my home, and (despite the fact it certainly has its problems) its lack of tarps and overgrown neighborhoods and rubble, and in a perverse way found the idea of living in a place without all that unsettling. I still don't have a perfectly clear answer for why that is, why part of me is comforted by all the damage here, but having thought about it considerably I have come up with a guess. This place revolves around the chaos of New Orleans. Its purpose is to clean up the filth and rubble. Having been here for a while I'm now comfortable with knowing that this place is going to be a second home for (at least) the next three months, and these people are going to become a second family. So why wouldn't I be rattled by the idea of living somewhere without tarps and rubble? My life here revolves around those things. If the volunteers are the heart and soul of Hands-On, then the derelict houses and debris are its body, and the idea of having all these thoughts and emotions of New Orleans swirling around my head without any means to take physical action is disturbing.

To be honest, thinking about all of these things is a little bit draining. I'm sorry my last two posts have been so serious and emotional, but there is such an incredibly amount to think about here that writing is a necessary way to process it. This is something that's been a challenge in writing these blog entries--distilling what I feel into what I really need to talk about. Every day there is an eye opening experience, and based simply on how much I've been feeling since my time here it's unbelievable to me that I've only been here for a week and a half. It's felt much richer than one would expect in such a short increment of time. But I’m tired from writing now and I'm stopping. I need a lighter blog entry. I have a ridiculously awesome story, but that's for next time.