Tag: millenial

“Hi Kiddo”

A pleasant dream with the imagery of flowers. A surge in confidence. That’s all it took for me to hesitantly wander back into the world I used to inhabit.

A parking spot a block away from that historic venue on a Saturday night. A sign, perhaps.

I took a cold breath in the February air and walked into the dark room, shaky. I glanced around, trying to stifle the overwhelming feeling of being surrounded by 300 people. It’s wild that you’re playing to 300 people now. A nervous wave, followed by a flood of unexpected emotion. I wondered what the people around us were thinking; it felt as though our history was spelled out in bold, for anyone to see.

Standing beside you at that table, pausing every time someone wanted to comment on your performance, your music, your creativity felt natural. I followed you backstage to help move your gear and eat half a cookie, like a no time, no pain, no whiskey had passed.

“It was good to see you.” And it was.

The problem with that night — with the dim lighting and noise we could barely speak over — was that it unfolded seamlessly. It overflowed with our potential, saturated with the feeling of comfort that has always been our strength. The problem with that night is even though my mind had formulated great intentions of resolution, part of my heart still held onto the hope that it could be an open door — just like the one from my dream the night before.

New Year’s Fog

My drives between Nashville and D.C. have marked a number of transitions these past 4 years. 10 hours of solitude. I enjoy it; it’s refreshing to have the time and space to peacefully contemplate each unique challenge of the moment.

These blocks of time and familiar distance have allowed me to process major decisions — taking a chance on a musician from New York, putting my relationship with my Dad on hold for a year. I’ve made the drive both in love and heartbroken, skipping to the songs that are applicable to my head and heart space of the time.

This trip, my thoughts wandered through an array of topics, experiences, and people — hanging on each one with quiet sincerity. This is the time of year for reflection, after all. I’ve struggled these last twelve months, and that pain and disappointment has painted the lens through which my thoughts were cast. Whatever the opposite of rose-colored glasses is.

This imagery came into focus as I was driving through the mountains between my two home states. A dense fog covered the road, making each upcoming curve harder to anticipate. 2018 was similarly murky, I thought.

The days were marked with the loss of relationships I had invested too much of myself in. Initially, I had tried – desperately – to cling to those connections. I couldn’t see beyond the curve directly in front of me. Disentangling myself was painful. It was a messy procedure that I did not feel equipped to navigate. But, slowly, I settled into that gray space. I rebuilt. A deep breath, a kind encounter with a stranger, a new friend, a day without crying in my car.

These small victories will never be applauded, but they are victories nonetheless. I realized then that I needed to recalibrate my end of the year reflection. I needed to value – not criticize – the time I spent mourning, the time I spent broken, the time I spent healing. This time was not wasted and it was not unproductive. It’s okay to learn how to breathe again; it’s okay if you don’t know what’s approaching ahead. 2018 taught me even the shakiest steps can move you forward.

An Introduction of Sorts

It’s funny — when I moved to Nashville 3 years and 8 months ago, I constantly faced the pressure of introducing myself. I knew zero humans when I moved to town, so every person and every experience needed an introduction.

Even with all that practice, I’m not sure I ever truly got the hang of it. As an introvert, I don’t seek out attention. And as someone who grew up in a dysfunctional family dynamic, I had learned to law low, refrain from rocking the boat, and put everyone else’s needs before my own. But none of this can be explained quickly in the midst of a social interaction with a stranger. So I found myself pausing, often, and saying “I’m really not good at talking about myself.”

So here is my attempt…

  • I grew up outside of Washington D.C., surrounded by the suburbs and their massive houses and franchised establishments. We had great schools and good quality of life — aside from the worst traffic in the country — but by the time I graduated college, I knew I wanted to try somewhere new.
  • Speaking of college, I have a degree in anthropology simply because I loved learning about people. I knew I didn’t want a career as an anthropologist, and as someone who loved school, I excelled in most subjects. Humanity is what held my interest though, far more than math or science or accounting or engineering would. So, I made the less than rational decision to study something I was fascinated by and try to explain the degree to employers later.
  • I moved to Nashville 2 weeks after I graduated, with nothing but an unpaid internship lined up. I’ve been here ever since.
  • I love coffee (and have been drinking it since I was 15), but truly don’t know if I have a good palette for it or not. I drink everything from black coffee to pumpkin spice lattes, depending on my mood.
  • My dad is a published author, former journalist, former editor, former speech writer. All that to say, starting a blog wasn’t exactly something I saw myself doing, but writing has become my cheap therapy and maybe one day, I’ll tell him. That day isn’t today.
  • I turn 26 next month, and I have no idea what I want the next 5 years of my life to look like. I have goals, I have purpose, but no plan. What’s to follow will be me working through the messiness.