Some of my best moments have been in this town. But also, some of my hardest.
Isn’t that the way it goes? The joy and pain are always intermingled. It’s impossible to separate them – the laughter and the tears – because life cannot be compartmentalized like a preschooler’s cubby wall. There is always something difficult to deal with – and there is always something to be thankful for.
It occurred to me the other night – Nashville did not fix me. I didn’t realize that I had the expectation that it would – not until my mom got cancer and all of a sudden I am leaving this town as big a tangled mess as I have ever been. Nashville did not heal those wounded places deep inside me, didn’t fulfill those dreams and unidentified desires that I’ve always had, didn’t make me cooler or smarter or prettier or more at peace.
I cried to my dad a couple of nights ago, telling him that as I prepare to leave, I feel an unexpected sense of disappointment. It surprised me. I didn’t know I felt disappointed – but I do. I definitely do. Nashville didn’t fix me; in fact, in some ways, it ripped those wounds open even wider.
I’ll be honest: I am a wreck these days – a bona fide disaster. If you don’t think so, that’s because you don’t know me – or because I’m a seriously good faker.
But the people that do know? They make up the biggest part of why I will always and forever be grateful for my time spent in Nashville. They have not fixed me – but they have put an arm around me. The “fingerprints of God,” my dad called them.
We are all weak. But it’s better to know that we are.