As is custom, traversing my 20s has meant trying on many hats and seeing which ones stick. And while I am generally uncomfortable when lots of eyes are on me, I find myself in a rallying position more and more. I like being a background force that moves all the pieces in the right direction. Months ago, when telling my mom that I want a truck in the future, she warned me that everyone would ask me for help all the time—I explained that that’s the appeal of it.
Part of the draw in getting involved with ANTIGRAVITY (this month marks six years for me) was this rallying potential—to offer a calm voice and stable hand when the winds outside feel like they’ll take the house down. I’ve gotten better at letting pessimism slide off of me, or shutting it down altogether when it pisses me off.
I have to admit, though, times have been really fucking tough lately. I haven’t been able to get my footing. They aren’t unique problems—car trouble, apartment trouble, cat trouble, camera trouble, money trouble—but they are compounding, and it’s felt like a one step forward, one foot hit with a bat kind of deal. My morale has been low, and I’ve been calling in a lot of favors—a lot. ANTIGRAVITY, too, has been calling in our favors. As you’ve probably heard by now, the financial predicament of this magazine isn’t so fantastic either. And in these last few months, I’ve been battling the encroachment of the existentially frightening Why bother?, a question that is antithetical to every life decision I’ve made thus far.
I’m very familiar with the Why bother? question. It was one that was asked a lot around this time 20 years ago. But the question feels like it’s spreading, a nihilistic plague poisoning the well of the future. As national leadership more outrightly flashes its wicked hand, the panic is palpable: Time is ticking, people are dying, and the government is not only unconcerned but actively abetting our demise. The march towards this year’s Katrina anniversary has been slow, with think pieces and reflections aplenty, and the weight of it is thick. But it hasn’t hit me the way I expected it to. Unlike the early post-Katrina years, when my disdain for being spoken about resulted in palpable anger, I find a solemn truth in its place—the rest of the country is catching up to us.
I’m not the best at asking for help. It’s been a humbling chapter of my life, having to admit that maybe I’m not doing so good, and maybe I need a bit of a boost. Handing over my spirit to fear feels like such a slippery slope, one that I worry is bottomless, and any break in my fortitude means I’ve lost, forever. There’s a worry that if the cheerleader goes down the team eventually stops playing. But when crying on the phone to my mom, wondering where these hits keep coming from and how I can work so much and still have no money, she reminded me that she’s been here, and that she’s had to ask for help in the same ways I am now, despite her similar discomfort with it. And when I think back to all the help we needed 20 years ago, I remember that this is just part of the merry-go-round of rallying cries.
Here at ANTIGRAVITY, there is a similar discomfort in asking for help. We take pleasure in being a steady voice that traverses the winds and leads the way. But when we asked, you all did what New Orleans does best: gave us a lift to higher ground. And while we aren’t in the clear financially, the outpouring of support we’ve received has boosted our spirits tremendously. Speaking only for myself, it has breathed new life into my fight.
In a little over a month we will vote for our next mayor. And we’ll have a lot more to say about it, don’t worry, but I want one thing to be clear: None of them will save us. No one singular thing or person ever will. The New Orleans that you want to see is shaped by you, and by me, and by every hand that builds and fights within it. The merry-go-round of shit will continue to spin, but I believe we’re particularly adept at passing the torch. Despite things being wildly unstable right now, I feel that we’re on the front end of learning how to figure out the new world.
So I can’t abide by Why bother? Failure is inevitable, and I learned this in the most fundamental way 20 years ago. That lesson was devastating and life-altering, but also fairly simple: You will get your teeth kicked in, and then you will get back up. My car will break, my street will flood, I’ll lose it all, probably, because I already have and nobody is trying to stop it from happening again. I’ll build my life, and it will be ripped apart in some way, and when that happens I’ll start again with the help of everyone around me ready to get me back on my feet. Whether it all goes to shit next week, next year, or 50 years in the future, I’ll rally the troops with the same fervor. —Marisa Clogher
illustration by Romey Petite
September 2025 cover by Sadie Wiese
