Dear Nashville, (A Love Letter)

Dear Nashville;

It has been approximately five years and 8 months since we last spent some time together. I waved to you, briefly, as I drove past last year on my way to and from Florida, but those moments were brief and do not count.

Nashville, ever since we first met in 2007, you've brought out the best in me. I didn't know how great you would be until I experienced you for the first time. I remember my best friend Sam telling me stories of you, and she crowned you here "favorite city". I couldn't imagine what would be so great about a city known for country music. What I discovered is that you are so much more than that.

I can count only a few instances where I felt, in it's total essence, BRAVE. Of those few times, I was in Nashville for most of them. There's something about the crisp of the air, the bright lights, the guitar strums that make me feel invincible. You make me feel hopeful, courageous. You make me feel at home.

It helps, of course, that I've gathered with some of my very best friends in Nashville. I think of you fondly, because I think of them. I think of walking down the streets, getting lost in a packed car, dancing on tables, discovering breathtaking views, skipping through souvenir shops, cheering on my friends as they hit the pavement, hugs in airports, and laughter in hotel rooms. I think of all the friendships we built, the secrets we shared and the way we gently encourage each other to be the best version of ourselves. I think of all of that, and I think of you, with immense glee.

For so long I thought that you and I could be together, forever. I was so comfortable, brave, and determined with you. I wanted to make you my permanent home. But as brave as I was, I was too afraid to make the leap. That might make some people sad...and for a while, I was. I still wonder what life would have been like if I had made my way to you. Maybe someday, I will find out.

But for now, I'm just visiting. I'm packing my bags and in just two days I'm heading to see you again, nearly six years later. I'll be reunited with some of those very special people who I've shared so many wonderful memories with in your city. We will, again, stand together in love, courage, and embrace each other for who we are.

And I, my dear Nashville, promise to take it all in. I will breathe your air, hear your sounds and walk your streets. I will capture it all and hold it close to my heart, where you will always be.

See you soon.

Love,
Megan

Dreams

When I was a senior in college, I was convinced that one day I would be living in Nashville, writing songs.  I had learned how to use words to express my emotions and I fell in love with it.My friends   would read the little poems/lyrics I had come up with and assured me they were good. At the same time, I became totally fascinated with Nashville. I had visited it a few times, and I thought that I belonged there. Music on every corner, friendly people, and dreams coming true.  I wanted to be part of it.  I became almost obsessed, and I spent all of my free time looking up jobs and apartments in Nashville.

Something happened, though. An opportunity popped up that wasn't Nashville. Instead, it was to do a year of volunteer service in Detroit, my hometown. I committed, and that year was the best year of my life. I was working at a high school with at risk kids, living with three total strangers who became three of my best friends. I loved it, but writing was still my passion. In my free periods at work, I was writing. I went through about 6 journals that year. I taught a creative writing class and blogged almost daily. I continued to keep the Nashville dream alive. As the year of service came to a close with no job lined up, I wondered if it was time to chase the dream. If maybe I should just go, and worry about the details later.

The problem with that, of course, was money. With very little savings and having just done a year of volunteering, I was struggling. There was no way I'd survive in Nashville with no job.

So, back to mom and dads house it was, where I spent my time applying for jobs and writing.

I got a job with a hospice. I took it, thinking I would do it for a year and then move to Nashville. No problems. Well, that didn't quite work out either. I stayed at hospice for nearly three years before accepting a new job with the American cancer Society.

For whatever reason, I never made it to Nashville. It wasn't in the cards. I didn't have the money nor the courage to drop everything and set up shop in Music City. As the years went by, I began to accept that maybe moving to Nashville wasn't actually a dream, but an escape plan. See, I was convinced that if I could just get to Nashville, I'd be happy. That everything would be perfect and I wouldn't feel so lonely anymore. That I would finally feel alive.

Instead, i found happiness in my own backyard. Literally. I can't imagine being happier than I am right now, and my life is certainly not as exciting as the one I imagined I would be living. But what I've learned is that happiness isn't defined by where you're living, or even what you DO for a living, but by how you live. I may not be living the dream I once had, but I am living the dream. I work for one of the greatest nonprofits in the country, I am in a relationship with the sweetest, most empathetic guy I know, and I live within minutes of my parents, sister, brother in law and nephew. Plus I live with my best friend. Now if not we could get my brother and sister in law a little closer, the dream would be complete. 

Do I still dream of Nashville? Yes. But it's more nostalgic now, thinking back on all the nights I spent drinking coffee and writing lyrics or the thrill I got when I let a friend read something I wrote, so anxious to hear what they would think. 

It's almost a past chapter in my life, though. My writings were, most often, fueled my heartbreak. I wrote best when I was in a deep hole of sadness. It's not a coincidence that I haven't been able to write lyrics like that in over a year. I'll let you figure out the logic on that. 

My dream is no longer to move to Nashville and write songs. It's to take Tom to Nashville one day and show him why I fell in love with that city. And then come back home and keep living my dream.

Brave Little Banana

The bravest thing I ever did was dress up as a banana and cheer on runners at the Rock N Roll Marathon in Nashville.

I'm a shy person, and an introvert. Meaning, I prefer to be alone. I've never been one who likes shopping in groups of people or who enjoys big parties. I get really uncomfortable. Big crowds terrify me. And marathons? They have some big crowds.

It was Spring 2008. I was in my junior year of college. To make a long story short, I was headed to Nashville to support several of my friends who I had met through a Melinda Doolittle fan site. They were going to be running the marathon in honor of our group, Melinda's Backups. Now, before you write me off as a creepy weirdo who meets people off the internet, understand that the Backups are the sweetest, most compassionate people I've ever met and to this day continue to be some of my best friends.

I was not running the marathon. I was a student, and out of shape, and the thought of squeezing training for a marathon into my schedule terrified me. But I wanted to go anyways. These ladies and gents were my friends, I wanted to support them.  There was a big group of us- the first day of arrivals was full of squeals and hugs, catching up face to face. We even got to have dinner with Melinda. Most of us had met her by that point, but some had not. It was an exciting trip for all of us.

Flying there and spending a few days with "strangers" was a brave enough act, for me. I had only met a couple of them, and had barely spoke when I did, fear that I would say something stupid and they wouldn't like me anymore. I was still shy on this trip, I remember a couple times where I stood awkwardly, just not knowing how to engage or jump into conversations.

But little did I know, I was about to be even more brave.

Us cheerleaders spent the night before the race making signs and packing up chairs and snacks for the sidelines, while the runners rested. And then I saw the banana. My friend Gem, the artist among the group, had constructed these amazing banana and pickle costumes. It was an inside joke from the site, and she wanted two of us to wear them so that the runners could spot us.

I wore the banana.

Me. Shy little me. And you know what? I had the greatest time in that thing. I don't think I stopped smiling for a second. At one point, I was standing next to Melinda, who was being recognized by several runners/cheerleaders. Two girls came over and asked if they could get a picture- assuming it was with her, I reached for the camera. Bur no, they wanted a picture with me, the banana. I put my heart and soul into cheering on my friends as they ran by our group. I would hug them tight (Except Val, who didn't stop! Kidding, Val!) and then yell at them- kindly, of course, to keep going. The feeling of immense joy that I had watching my friends fight hard to reach their goal was something I have never felt sense. Afterwards, when they crossed the finish line and I fed them water and fruit, I had never felt so proud. We were a team, we were a family. We still are.

The banana costume still hangs up in my room. It is a daily reminder of that day, the day I chose to be brave and loud, instead of hiding and quiet. That day changed me. I did not become this super outgoing person, but I did gain confidence. I also gained gratitude, for my new friends and for Melinda, who all pushed me to put myself out there.

My "banana story" is one of my go to stories I tell people. You know, in those "Tell us a random fact about yourself" kind of situations. No one really seems to get it. They sort giggle, and move on to the next person. And maybe my readers won't get it either. But the backups do. Melinda does. I do. And it is a story, and a day, that I will cherish for as long as I live.

Myself, Melinda, and Babz in the pickle.