A tale of two cities

If you’re going to San Francisco
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair
If you’re going to San Francisco
You`re gonna meet some gentle people there

Well, I can only hope the people are gentle, because my hair won’t support the use of flowers.

That’s right. To quote another 60s classic, I’m leaving on a jet plane. The powers that be have determined it would be a good thing for me to mix and mingle with other people who write about the insurance industry. Based on my experience, it will either be an extremely boring bunch or quite the rowdy one. And the shindig happens starting this weekend at the San Francisco Fairmont

All things considered, I’d rather be staying home.

Take one part general travel jitters, add about a million parts separation anxiety (this is the first time I’ve left Mrs. Z at home in more than seven years) and stir in a dash of domesticity, and you’re left with a recipe for travel ambivalence. That said, San Francisco is one of the few cities I have an active desire to see, and I have an agreeable colleague as a travel companion, so I’m sure I’ll survive — perhaps even thrive.

Meanwhile, my thoughts are still dominated by another city: New Orleans. Nearly two weeks after Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast, my thoughts on the tragedy are only now starting to resolve to the point where I feel I can write about it. Here are some of those thoughts, in no particular order.

I find myself nodding in agreement with this guy, who comments that: “I fully expected that watching the events of 9/11 on TV (only a couple weeks after I'd been in both NY and Washington for job interviews) would be the most horrifying experience of my lifetime. I was wrong.”

Indeed, I would imagine that if you played word association and said “national tragedy” to a random sampling three weeks ago or more, a solid majority would say 9/11. And yet, here we are, facing an event that will probably end up having ten times the death toll and as deep (or maybe even deeper) an impact on our national culture. Call me a pessimist (it would be a first), but I can’t imagine New Orleans ever being the same – at least in my lifetime.

I’ve been pretty emotionally erratic in Katrina’s wake. I spent two days in sadness, but I’ve been given more recently to fits of anger over the disgusting politicization of the talk surrounding the storm. I can safely say that 9/11 never made me as angry as I have been over this. For God’s sake, people, there is no enemy here … only our countrymen and brethren in the family of man. Can we please postpone the self-righteous indignation and finger-pointing until we have resuced the living and buried the dead?

All in all, it maybe best that I’m getting away. Though leaving Mrs. Z at home breaks my heart each night my departure gets closer, I long for a fresh perspective. Maybe it will wash over me when I pass through the Golden Gate. Maybe I’ll see it in the face of an impassioned Giants fan. Maybe I’ll find it in the industry babble that is my reason for leaving.

Maybe I won’t find it until I’m home again.