I Asked for More and Got Shown Myself.

I Asked for More and Got Shown Myself.....

A New Orleans Reflection on Wanting, Waiting, and Watching Your Mouth

Reflection written by Kateb Shunnar

I learned early that New Orleans does not teach you lessons politely. It teaches you sideways. Through people. Through weather. Through moments where you swear you know better and then find yourself standing in the mess you ordered like it came with a receipt.

At 2688 Jonquil, my grandmother Celestine’s house was not big, but it was heavy with knowing. The kind of knowing that does not shout. It just watches. You could feel it soon as you stepped inside. The air moved slower in there. Like it wanted you to calm down before you broke something important.

That house had sounds. Floors that talked back. Cabinets that sighed when you slammed them. Even the clock on the wall ticked like it was counting your nonsense. The front porch was where truth sat down and crossed its legs. Folks came by for coffee, for advice, for relief, and sometimes just to sit quiet because silence felt safer than their own thoughts.

Granny Celestine used to say just because you can do a thing does not mean you should. She said it the way folks remind you to bring a sweater. Casual. Almost gentle. But loaded. She was not impressed by ability alone. She cared about intention. About consequences. About what happens after the excitement wears off.

She warned me about quick decisions. About following trends just because everybody else was running that way. She said anger will lie to you. Bitterness will dress itself up as confidence. Desire will rush you and call it destiny. And if you are not paying attention, you will drink whatever Kool Aid is being passed and swear it taste like freedom.

She talked about apples too. Not grocery store apples. The kind from trees you were never invited to. She said eating from the wrong tree will not kill your body, but it will starve your spirit. It will dry you out inside. She said one bad choice can put a tourniquet on your connection to the womb of the universe so tight you forget what peace feels like.

I thought she was being dramatic. I was young. I was sure of myself. I believed wanting something bad enough made it good.

At forty seven, I know better.

Now I understand what she meant when she said death is not always a funeral. Sometimes it is emotional. Sometimes it is spiritual. Sometimes it is when you stop feeling joy but keep pretending. Sometimes it is when you build walls so high you forget why you needed protection in the first place.

The womb of Creation listens carefully. But it does not rush. And it does not always deliver blessings wrapped in bows. Sometimes it answers prayers through process. Through discomfort. Through lessons that take longer than expected.

You ask for patience and suddenly everybody around you gets on your nerves.

You ask for strength and life hands you weight.

You ask for clarity and everything goes quiet first.

That silence is not punishment. It is preparation.

We spend so much time wanting the picture in our head that we miss the moment we are standing in. We fall in love with an idea of happiness and ignore the small steady joy sitting right next to us. We say if I just get there, wherever there is, then I will rest. Then I will be kind. Then I will be grateful.

But happiness rarely shows up like that. It sneaks in. It lives in ordinary places. In laughter that catches you off guard. In a good meal. In someone checking on you without being asked.

Being careful what you ask for means checking where that wanting comes from. Is it fear talking. Is it ego hungry. Is it anger dressed up as ambition. Is it trying to fill a wound instead of heal it.

New Orleans will show you quick what happens when folks ask for things they are not ready to hold. You see it in people who wanted power and ended up paranoid. You see it in folks who chased money and lost their health. You see it in people who wanted attention and found themselves lonely when the noise died down.

Everybody wants the blessing. Few want the responsibility that comes with it.

There is an old piece of folklore my family tells when somebody gets beside themselves. They say there was once a man not far from the river who prayed loud but listened poorly. Folks called him Lucky Leon, though luck never really stayed with him long.

Leon wanted more business. He said he was tired of scraping by. He stood on his porch one hot August evening and hollered up at the sky, asking for overflow. He said he wanted so much work he would not know what to do with it.

Well. The next week, work came. Too much work. Customers all day. No rest. No sleep. Complaints stacking up like dirty dishes. Leon missed meals. Missed his family. Missed himself. When he finally sat down exhausted, he looked up and said this is not what I meant.

The old man across the street told him you should have finished your sentence. The moral was simple. The universe listens literally. Wisdom teaches you to speak carefully.

Watch the company you keep. My grandmother said that too. When you look at your friends, you are looking at yourself. Your circle is a mirror whether you like the reflection or not.

If everybody around you is angry, check what you been feeding.

If everybody around you is reckless, check where you been standing.

If everybody around you is tired and bitter, check if you resting in the right places.

Do not step over dollars to pick up dimes. Do not get so busy arguing about little things that you miss the bigger picture. Priorities matter. Peace matters. Health matters.

Being rooted like a tree saved my life more times than I can count. At my grandmother’s house there was a tree in the yard that storms could not bully. Branches broke sometimes. Leaves fell. But the roots were deep. That tree reminded her of faith. You do not see the roots, but they doing the real work.

Being rooted means you draw nourishment from something steady. From values. From prayer. From reflection. From community. Not from applause. Not from instant gratification.

A rooted life survives drought.

A shallow one panics when the rain stops.

Never take yourself out of the range of people who love you. Isolation feels like strength until it starts eating you alive. Staying connected is not weakness. It is wisdom. Real support does not drain you. It steadies you. It holds you accountable without tearing you down.

And just as important, know when to walk away. You do not owe loyalty to chaos. You do not have to explain your worth to anyone who keeps missing it.

Money is a tool. Not a purpose. Life has value that cannot be counted. If all you chase is wealth, you will end up spiritually broke. Possessions should never become your name.

Legacy is what you leave in people. Not what you leave behind.

At forty seven, I hear my grandmother’s voice more clearly than ever. I hear it when I rush. When I want something fast. When I am tempted to pray reckless prayers.

I asked for more. And instead of getting what I thought I wanted, I got shown myself. My impatience. My ego. My hunger. My healing.

That turned out to be the real blessing.

Be careful what you ask for. Not because the universe is cruel. But because it listens closely.

And it loves you enough to answer honestly

KATEB NURI-ALIM SHUNNAR.

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