I usually tell people I moved to Baton Rouge because I met a fella.

My husband Will is from Saint Francisville, and when the time came to choose a graduate school, LSU was the obvious answer — reasonable cost of living, family nearby, and,.. as luck would have it, a job offer waiting for me at LSU. Louisiana had been pulling at us for a while, and LSU opened more doors than I anticipated —professionally and in ways I'm still grateful for. The choice felt easy for us on paper. The first year was not easy.

I spent a lot of it crying. A dear colleague, Emi gave me the most useful piece of advice anyone has ever offered me about this city: Baton Rouge can be very welcoming, but it's not always inviting. She meant that people here are genuinely kind, but the party and dinner invitations don't always follow. I have a vivid memory of being invited and then promptly uninvited from a bookclub because there were, “too many people already”. There was a women's organization I kept trying to join — told I was added to a list that never quite materialized. There was a wall, and I couldn't find the door.

Emi and another friend, Norisha, eventually handed me the key. They sponsored me for the Junior League of Baton Rouge, and it changed everything. I'm genuinely not sure I would have stayed here without it. The League gave me something I hadn't been able to find on my own: a network forged through shared work, shared values, and the particular kind of bond that comes from showing up and doing something that matters together. The first budget I ever managed was in the League. The first team I ever led was in the League. Those experiences did more than root me here— they showed me what Baton Rouge was capable of.

What I've come to understand, from the outside looking in, is that there is far more good in this city than many people who have never left it realize. There's a richness here that reveals itself slowly. So many people are musicians or artists in some way.The history runs deep, and the stories run deeper, if you know where to look. Everyone talks about the food — and yes, it is extraordinary — but what I love more than the food is the way people here gather around it. Baton Rouge is a communal place. Few things make me happier than a long, slow meal on the patio at DiGiulio Brothers with friends who have nowhere else to be. Game day in Baton Rouge is its own kind of communion — and this city has given me plenty of reasons to show up for it, from some genuinely historic seasons in women's sports to a football national championship I'll never forget.

The slower pleasures matter just as much. Mako, our Catahoula, and I have logged more miles than I can count around the LSU lakes and through the trails at Tunica Hills. Harper, our Plott Hound, prefers a quiet night in — especially if she gets to split a BLDG 5 peanut butter cookie with me. Silvie, our tortie, judges all of it from the windowsill. There are few things better than a slow morning catching up with the regulars at Garden District Coffee, or a warm breakfast at Zeeland Street.

One of the hardest early lessons after moving here was learning that the best place to be on any given Saturday night was someone's backyard. That took time to break into. But what I love about this city now is the way certain spaces bring the backyard to the front yard — making community, and the act of communing, accessible to everyone. Asian Night Market. Mid-City Markets like Hot Art, Cool Nights. The Red Stick Farmer’s Market on Saturdays. First Wednesday at the Baton Rouge Gallery. These are the city at its best, open and generous and alive.

The Gallery deserves it sown mention. When Will graduated and we made the decision to truly settle here,I knew exactly where I wanted to live: within walking distance of Baton Rouge Gallery. It wasn't a casual preference. The Gallery represented something I had been searching for since I arrived — culture and community and a commitment to radical access. It felt like the Baton Rouge I had slowly fallen in love with, made visible.

I'm deeply involved in this city now — in ways I couldn't have imagined during that first hard year. I co-organize TEDxBaton Rouge, serve on impactful boards, and have graduated from several leadership programs. I don't say this to list credentials. I say it because I want anyone still in that hard first year to know: the opportunity here is real. The space to build something is real.

I’ll be the first to admit that there is a lot of complacency in Baton Rouge. The good news is — there is a lot of complacency in Baton Rouge. If you are someone willing to roll up your sleeves, you will find more room to work than you ever expected. Find the other transplants, and the "boomerangs" who made a conscious choice to be here and love this place fiercely for it. Follow the people doing the work of sharing this city: publications like Red Eye, accounts like @wheretogeaux225 — they know where to look, and they're generous about it. Get involved. Join something. Show up.

Baton Rouge has given me more than I could have asked for, and this is unquestionably where I belong. If you're new here, or still looking for your place, my advice is simple: show up. Join something. Introduce yourself. Say yes to the invitation and extend one of your own. This city is full of people, places, and opportunities waiting to be discovered. And if you've already found your place here, help someone else find theirs. Be the person who makes Baton Rouge not just welcoming, but inviting. Invite the new neighbor to dinner, introduce a newcomer to your favorite coffee shop, or bring someone along to the event you've attended a dozen times before. The strongest communities are built when people choose to open the door for others, and that's what I've come to love most about Baton Rouge: at its best, it's a place where people show up for one another, and where everyone can find a place to belong.