Y’all, something happened on my way to work this morning. I realized that I love this city. I got a little choked up about it, coming down West End, seeing the hilly street descending down towards the ever-present Batman building.
I’ve never been in love with a place before. I’ve never lived any place long enough to really get to know it well enough to know what falling in love with it could be like. But this morning, I realized that I could have a very happy life if all my trips ended up with me back here.
I mean, before today, there have been lots of things about Nashville that I love–the park, the city cemetery, the Shelby Bottoms greenway, the sound of the interstate like my very own river and the trains like barges around me, my friends, my job, the fountain in Bicentennial Park, the honky-tonks down on lower Broad, the millions of back ways to get places–but finally I feel like this is my home.
I’m getting a little emotional even typing that. I’ve never had a home town before. I’ve never been from some place. But I’ve been here six years, which makes it the second longest I’ve ever lived some place.
I’ve grown attached.
It’s a weird feeling, to belong to a place. I feel like I should go out and drive around more often, to keep track of how things are and how they’re changing. Or that I should join a club or buy season tickets to something. I don’t know. It’s all new.
But it’s nice.