Once at a party in New Orleans, an elderly local doyen asked me where I lived in the city. “Faubourg Marigny, east of the French Quarter,” I answered naively.

In a practiced tone reserved exclusively for those not from families with roots buried centuries deep into the city, she replied. “You must not be from around heyah (Imagine Vivien Leigh as Scarlett O’Hara speaking this line.) Around heyah, we say UP RIVAH and DOWN RIVAH.”

And it is in a that same patronizing tone that several friends have told me, when they hear of our plans, “You’re going to miss New Orleans.”

“I WILL miss New Orleans,” I reply, “And Baton Rouge, and St. Francisville, and Breaux Bridge, and Mandeville, and Pontchatoula…and even Chalmette.”

I’ll miss every twisted turn of River Road, and every quirky cultural crevice I’ve had the joy to explore around these parts over the last many decades.

That is in fact, precisely why I’m leaving.

Because, when I return, the inevitable “taking it for granted” phenomenon that sinks in over the years, will have dropped away. And all these amazing things will once again be—amazing.

Meanwhile, I’ll be on the hunt for all that is amazing elsewhere.

I’ll most definitely miss the hysterical costumes that fill the streets of Faubourg Marigny on Mardi Gras Day.