Unbecoming the Noise

Author’s Opening Note.

Here is an unknown fact they do not put on postcards or tourism brochures. New Orleans has more cemeteries above ground than almost anywhere else in the country not because we are obsessed with death but because the water table is too close to the surface. If you try to bury anything too deep it comes back up. Coffins float. Secrets rise. The truth refuses to stay hidden. That alone preached to me before I ever heard a sermon that stuck. You cannot bury who you really are. You can try. Lord knows we try. But eventually your soul floats back to the surface tapping you on the shoulder like say now you done played long enough.

I wrote this with tears interrupting sentences and pauses that lasted longer than I care to admit. I laughed too because that is how I survive. If you cannot laugh at the mess sometimes the mess will swallow you whole. New Orleans taught me that. We cry at funerals and then eat red beans together like life did not just punch us in the chest. That is not denial. That is resilience with seasoning.

This piece is not about becoming holy perfect successful enlightened or impressive. I am tired of chasing impressive. Impressive is exhausting and usually lying. This is about unbecoming. Peeling back layers. Returning borrowed expectations. Handing back masks that never fit right anyway. This is about remembering the original you before the world started making suggestions. Before people who did not know your spirit tried to give you a blueprint. Before fear started dressing itself up as responsibility.

My grandmother used to say baby everybody want a seat at your table until it is time to wash dishes. She said it laughing but she meant every word. She also told me peace tastes better when everybody at the table actually belongs there. That wisdom aged me early and saved me late.

I write from New Orleans because this city understands contradiction. Beauty and brokenness dancing on the same block. Brass bands following grief. Joy with a limp. Faith with questions. That is the soil this reflection grew in. If you feel seen here that is not an accident. If something in you stirs uncomfortably that is not either.

This is part one of a journey. Not to somewhere new but back to yourself. Take your shoes off. We on sacred ground and the floor might be a little wet. The truth tends to rise around here.

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Unbecoming the Noise. A Soul Testimony About Remembering Who You Were Before the World Got Loud.

Written by Kāteb Shunnar

Maybe the journey is not about becoming anything at all. That idea crept up on me one humid New Orleans night when the air was thick, the street was loud, and my thoughts would not sit down somewhere and behave. Maybe it is about unbecoming everything that is not really you. That thought hit me like a trumpet note bouncing off brick walls in Tremé. Loud. Clear. Impossible to ignore. All my life I thought growth meant adding more titles more achievements more proof. Turns out the real work was subtraction. Letting go. Dropping the act. Unlearning survival tricks that overstayed their welcome.

I spent years trying to assemble myself like a product. Add discipline here. Add ambition there. Sprinkle spirituality on top and call it maturity. Meanwhile my spirit was sitting in the corner like excuse me you forgot something important and it was me.

Your mind really is a magnet. That is not poetic fluff. That is lived experience. When I woke up expecting trouble I found it waiting with coffee. When I trained my thoughts toward grace even on days when grace felt fictional somehow doors cracked open. Not kicked down. Cracked. Quiet miracles. The kind you miss if you only believe in fireworks.

New Orleans teaches you about quiet growth. We got oak trees older than your great great grandparents. Nobody rushing them. Nobody yelling grow faster. They just do what they were designed to do. Deep roots. Wide arms. Shade for folks who did not plant them. That is purpose without performance.

Along this journey I learned there are different kinds of people who walk with you. Not everybody who smiles is meant to stay. Some folks breeze through your life like second line confetti. Beautiful for the moment then gone with the wind. They teach you joy but not stability.

Then there are those who lean on you heavy when the weather is good but disappear when the sky gets ugly. They mean well sometimes but they built for comfort not commitment. They love you best when loving you costs nothing.

And then there are the grounded ones. The ones who show up when it is inconvenient. The ones who do not need applause to be loyal. The ones who sit with you in silence without trying to fix you. Those are the folks who help you remember who you are when you forget. Choose them wisely. Everybody does not deserve a lifetime pass to your heart.

My grandmother told me the sooner you recognize which chairs do not belong at your table the more peaceful your meals become. I did not understand that as a child. I get it now. Peace requires boundaries and boundaries offend people who benefited from your lack of them.

The journey taught me that life is not about possessions or applause or checking off milestones like a grocery list. It is about character forming quietly while nobody is watching. It is about becoming trustworthy with your own soul. It is about learning how to sit with yourself without needing noise to distract you from your thoughts.

We live in a world addicted to comparison. Social media turned life into a highlight competition and everybody forgot the behind the scenes part is where the real work happens. Measuring your inside by someone else outside will bankrupt your joy every time. You will end up running races you never signed up for chasing prizes that do not even fit your life.

I had to learn to stop sprinting toward other people definitions of success. Every time I did that I ended up tired broke in spirit and confused about why the win felt empty. Running someone else maze will leave you lost even if you finish first.

There is an illusion that the middle of the journey means nothing is happening. That quiet seasons equal stagnation. That is a lie dressed up as impatience. Roots grow in silence. Healing happens offstage. Just because nothing flashy is happening does not mean nothing meaningful is happening.

We sabotage ourselves chasing novelty because stillness scares us. We confuse chaos with progress. We abandon solid foundations because they feel boring. Familiar does not mean wrong. Sometimes it means safe enough for growth.

I learned this the hard way. I ran from my path more than once thinking I outgrew it. Every time I did I ran right into myself again just older and more tired. You can circle the block all you want but destiny has a long memory.

My grandmother used to laugh and say the faster you run from what you are meant to do the quicker you end up standing right in front of it again. She was right. Purpose is patient but persistent.

Jobs money titles desires all of that can become distractions if you confuse the channel with the source. A paycheck is not your provider. It is a delivery system. When you worship the delivery system you forget who actually feeds you.

There is a trap called more. More money more praise more validation more stuff. It promises satisfaction and delivers hunger. Like running on a wheel chasing cheese that never quite reaches your mouth. The soul stays starving while the ego gets obese.

Breaking free requires redefining success on your own terms. Not society terms. Not family pressure terms. Your terms. The kind that let you sleep at night without bargaining with your conscience.

I had to learn that happiness built on external things is conditional. It disappears when the conditions change. Real peace is internal alignment. Being where your spirit can breathe even if your life is not perfect yet.

This journey taught me an acronym that saved me when I wanted to quit. ROOT. Remain Open Observe Truth. Remain present. Open your heart without losing your spine. Observe patterns not just moments. Tell yourself the truth even when it costs you comfort.

New Orleans understands this rhythm. We celebrate life knowing death is close. We dance knowing tomorrow is not promised. We season our food heavy because we know bland living is a waste of breath.

Unbecoming means letting go of who you had to be to survive so you can become who you were meant to be to live. It means forgiving versions of yourself that did the best they could with what they knew at the time.

It means dropping bricks you were never meant to throw. Letting them shatter instead of using them as weapons. Sometimes healing is just putting things down.

I am still on this journey. Still shedding layers. Still learning when to laugh at myself and when to sit quietly with the ache. Still trusting that quiet growth counts.

If this reflection feels like it found you instead of the other way around that is because truth floats. Always has. Especially in New Orleans.

Now lets take a deep breath and lets dive into part two.

Unbecoming the Noise

What Remains When the Masks Are Finally Tired

Author’s Opening Note

Another thing they do not tell you about New Orleans is this. The quietest moments are never truly quiet. Even at three in the morning the city hums like it is remembering something out loud. Pipes knock. Wood settles. A train sighs somewhere far off like it knows your business. Silence here has layers. That is how truth moves too. It does not rush you. It waits until you are tired enough to listen.

I did not write this part because I wanted to. I wrote it because it would not leave me alone. Part One cracked something open. This part crawled out. Unbecoming sounds poetic until it starts asking you uncomfortable questions. Until it starts taking inventory. Until it asks you why you are still carrying things you prayed your way out of years ago.

There is a moment in every honest journey where you realize healing is not about adding new tools but putting old weapons down. That moment usually does not come with fireworks. It comes with a deep sigh and the kind of exhaustion that feels spiritual. The kind where your soul says I cannot keep pretending and your body finally agrees.

New Orleans understands that kind of tired. We rest on stoops. We pause mid sentence. We take our time telling the truth because rushing it would cheapen it. This city taught me that becoming yourself again is not dramatic. It is deliberate. Slow. Sometimes funny. Sometimes painful. Always worth it.

If Part One was about noticing the noise this part is about what happens after you turn the volume down. What stays. What leaves. What finally gets a chance to breathe. Take your time here. Nothing holy likes to be rushed.

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Unbecoming the Noise

Part Two. What Remains When the Masks Are Finally Tired.

There comes a point when the masks get heavy. Not because they are dramatic but because they are unnecessary. Carrying who you are not takes energy you could be using to live. At some point your spirit starts charging you interest on all that pretending.

I used to think rest meant sleep. Turns out rest is honesty. Rest is not having to explain yourself all the time. Rest is not shrinking or performing or rehearsing conversations in your head before they happen. Rest is letting your face match your heart.

Unbecoming exposes things. That is the part nobody advertises. When you stop performing you see clearly who was only clapping for the costume. Some people get uncomfortable when you stop needing their approval. They preferred you smaller. Quieter. Easier to predict.

That is when you learn another truth my grandmother slipped into conversation like it was casual. Everybody loves the version of you they can control. The real you requires consent.

This part of the journey is lonely if you do not understand it. Familiar faces start feeling foreign. Old rooms feel too tight. You are not lost. You are shedding. Snakes do not apologize for outgrowing skin.

New Orleans folklore says there is a woman who walks the river at night humming old songs. They say she carries the names people forgot to answer to. When she hums one that belongs to you your chest tightens. Not from fear but recognition. That is how truth calls you back. Soft. Persistent. Impossible to unhear.

I have felt that hum in my own life. In moments when success looked good but felt wrong. In rooms full of praise that still felt empty. That hum always asked the same question. Are you fed or are you just full.

We confuse comfort with calling. We settle for okay because okay does not challenge us. But okay has a quiet way of stealing years. One day you wake up and realize you have been busy avoiding your own depth.

There is an illusion that stability means staying exactly the same. Real stability is knowing who you are while everything else changes. Growth does not always look like movement. Sometimes it looks like staying put without betraying yourself.

Unbecoming also rearranges your relationships. You start recognizing patterns instead of excuses. You notice who disappears when you stop over giving. You see who only knows how to love you when you are useful.

Then there are the grounded ones. The ones who adjust instead of abandoning. They do not panic when you evolve. They ask how to walk with you now. Those are not accidents. Those are confirmations.

I had to learn that not every ending needs a villain. Some connections expire because the lesson was complete. You can bless what was without dragging it into what is.

Comparison tries to sneak back in during this phase. It whispers you are behind. That everyone else figured it out faster. Lies love timelines. Purpose does not wear a watch.

Chasing someone else rhythm will knock you out of sync with your own breath. Even jazz knows when to pause. Even music understands space matters.

This part of the journey taught me another acronym I live by. STILL. Sit In Truth Let Life. Sit long enough to hear yourself. Truth does not yell. Let life unfold without forcing it.

Unbecoming is not about erasing your past. It is about reclaiming yourself from it. Thank the versions of you that survived. Release the ones that stayed too long.

New Orleans knows how to release. We let parades pass. We let storms move through. We clean up. We cook. We keep living. That is not denial. That is wisdom.

If Part One was the awakening this part is the integration. Where you stop announcing your growth and start living it. Quietly. Intentionally. Without needing witnesses.

What remains when the masks are tired is not emptiness. It is you. Whole. Breathing. Enough.

Author’s Closing Words If this second part spoke to you I ask again that you share this work by any positive means. These words travel best hand to hand and heart to heart. If you are able please support this writing and this blog through donation. Your support keeps this work alive and reaching those who need it. Thank you for walking this road with me!

Written by Kāteb Shunnar

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