When people ask me what it was that brought me to Nashville – how I got here – the story sounds very bohemian and romantic. I was following a dream, I sold everything that I owned, I lived a nomadic existence for 4 months, I drove all over the country, I landed here without a penny to my name, armed with nothing but a broken heart and a Martin guitar.

I’ll admit that even I bought into the rosy mystique of it all, and I could not wait to arrive here in Nashville completely anonymously. I had the rare chance to reinvent myself, and to become whoever I wanted to be. No longer would I need to be known as “Annie Parsons – pastor’s daughter,” or “Annie Parsons – worship leader at UPC,” or “Annie Parsons – awkward girl who says really embarrassing things,” or “Annie Parsons – used to date so-and-so,” or “Annie Parsons – didn’t she drink too much at that wedding?”

I could change my name. I could be “Annie Parsons – songwriter,” or “Annie Parsons – callously courageous,” or “Annie Parsons – never deals with insecurity,” or “Annie Parsons – sparkly wonder child that everyone loves and adores, and we TOTALLY need to invite her to our party!” I could wriggle out of that old skin that was feeling so heavy and ugly, and emerge something new and exciting and different. I could be like Cinderella, and magically transform into the beautiful soul I’ve always hoped I might be – and won’t they all be amazed?

The truth is far from glamorous. The truth is that I arrived in a puddle of tears. The truth is that it’s been lonely and hard. The truth is that even as I watch my Facebook friend-count grow with every new person I encounter, I am so tired of meeting new people. The truth is that I wonder if I’d be better off back in Seattle. The truth is that I’m still just as introverted as I ever was. The truth is that I deal with all the same stuff: insecurity, regretful words, body image issues, pessimism, awkward moments, selfishness and pride, lack of discipline, empty bank account.

Different town, same girl.

On my own, I am stuck in the same old patterns that I’ve always dealt with. I am facing the familiar struggles with no real hope of anything changing. I am just me, just Annie, and what could I possibly do to tear down the heavy, solid walls of “what has always been” and start over – become something new?

Different town, same girl. But luckily, different town, same God.

And lately, I have been learning that God can take anything – loaves and fish, two coins given by a destitute widow, a barren womb in Sarah, a swindling tax collector named Zacchaeus, a rugged cross, and yes, even me – and transform it into something worthwhile, something big, something of consequence.

All I have to say is “yes.”

Dear Self,
You’ve made it to your 26th birthday without winding up dead, pregnant, or in jail – congratulations! As your friend Joel once told you, and you have now adopted as your occasional motto, “It could be worse.” Ah, the negative spin on a positive idea… you have always excelled at such sentiments.

So much has happened since your 25th birthday one year ago. Most significantly, you packed up your little Honda and left your beloved home in Seattle. Even though you were excited for the adventure ahead and put on a brave and buoyant front, you were terrified. The unknown has always been an uncomfortable place for you, and when you left Seattle in September of 2007, you had absolutely no way of knowing what the impending months would hold.

Little did you know, the coming year was going to rule.

You drove through 30 states. You climbed some Rocky Mountains. You saw old friends, and met new ones. You snarfled your nephews. You charmed a snake on the streets of Austin. You attended various weddings and parties. You ran a 5K. You sat in the cockpit of a Navy plane. You saw both the Pacific and the Atlantic Oceans. You ate Lebanese food in Washington, D.C., and cheeseburgers in Alabama, and tapas in Boston, and seafood on an island off the coast of South Carolina. You gained weight. You lost weight. You gained weight. You lost weight. Get used to it. You saw the Appalachian Mountains. You crunched through crimson and orange and golden leaves. You saw “The Lion King” on Broadway. You wrote songs. You sang. You navigated the New York subway. You hailed a cab. You planted yourself in an unknown city. You talked to strangers. You found an apartment. You rounded up an entire household’s worth of furniture. You found a job. You quit the job. You found another job. You chopped off all your hair. You earned frequent flyer miles. You established a routine. You killed the cockroaches. You caught the fireflies. You read books. You recorded some demos. You started playing shows. You met huge country stars. You met ex-convicts. You explored. You tried. You experienced.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. You cried more tears in the past 12 months than you have ever cried before. A dog barfed on the backseat of your car, and on hot days, the smell still lingers. You had your heart beaten up a couple of times. You experienced true mortification and embarrassment. You hurt people. You had no expendable income. You walked through life’s nightmares with friends. You battled depression like never before. You were disappointed. You were let down. You felt lonely. You felt ugly. You felt afraid.

But through God’s grace, you made it to this point. Now, as you look ahead at the coming year, you are faced with the same uncertainty you had a year ago. Where is this all leading? What’s the purpose? What’s going to happen? Why are you here – in this job, in this situation, in this city, in this world, in this life?

But Self, I am learning that I don’t think we ever really get the answers to those questions. We just keep walking, and keep moving, and keep living. This year, I hope you’ll ask less and listen more. Keep your sense of wonder. But don’t worry, or agonize, or work yourself into a tizzy. There is a purpose for it all, even if you never see it.

You are young. You have so much to learn. However, 26 years and 100 years are exactly the same, depending on how long you’ve lived – so embrace today as a marker of how far you’ve come. Today, you break your own record of “most consecutive days lived” – so go ahead and break your alcohol fast already! Especially because this weekend, this man:

… sent you flowers in a beer stein, which were delivered straight to your bedside.

Cheers [*clink*],
Me. Or, um… You.

The deed is done – I made it through my first writer’s round without a) train-wrecking, or b) crying. I had about 10 friends who made it out, which meant so much, especially since I still call myself “new to Nashville” – thanks to those of you who came. I was lucky enough to share the stage with Matt Dorrien and Chris Moynihan, who are both great writers and actually know how to play the guitar. True to my word, I was not perfect – but it was fun, I played my 3 songs, and when I smiled, I meant it.

And I NEVER HAVE TO PLAY MY FIRST SHOW IN NASHVILLE AGAIN!

A potentially-embarrassing-yet-ultimately-hysterical moment:

My parents sent me flowers. Yes, to the bar. Like, “Oh, you’re Annie Parsons? We have a special delivery for you! Let me bring it over to your table! In front of all of these people!”

At first, I felt my face burning up – but then I ripped open the card:

From the reverend and his lovely wife. Are they hilarious or what? (Note: for full context, read this.) Thanks to Erin, Casey, and my mother for unwittingly collaborating to coin the new “Go get ‘em.” The best part of this story is the thought of my mom on the phone with some Nashville florist, saying, “Yes, I’d like the card to read… ‘You’re the shit.’ Yes. Yes, ‘the shit.’ S-H-I-T.”

Tonight is the night. My first time playing out in Nashville.

Good thing that I will only have to say that once in my entire life.

Eleanor Roosevelt said to “do something everyday that scares you.” Apparently I haven’t done anything scary for about 9 years, and it is all converging in this one little 3-song event. Then again, for as terrifying as it all seems, it’s also exciting to finally, FINALLY be doing something.

The past 6 months or so have held the consistent theme of letting go of perfectionism. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but also… freeing. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be perfect. The important thing is to try. And to wear something cute while doing it.

Have you ever been really afraid of something? Totally terrified that this thing, this event, would be awful and painful and you just didn’t want to experience it… only to find that, when it happened, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be?

When I was a nanny, I took the boys to the doctor for their yearly check-up. This particular year, the older boy was due for shots. At 6-years old, the prospect of having a needle shoved into your arm is about as appealing as driving a nail straight into your forehead – and so, understandably, this boy was upset.

Understatement.

This boy was inconsolable. Thrashing with terror. Not screaming, not wailing – but shrieking out of absolute anxiety and alarm. No amount of words, wit, or bribery could calm him.

But he needed the shot. And the doctor was busy. So I had no choice but to wrap my entire body around this flailing little boy, and, gripping hard, to restrain him. Despite his maniacal shriek straight into my ear, the needle was in and out of his arm before he even knew it had happened.

And when we told him that it was over, his face relaxed, he stood up, and nonchalantly said, “That didn’t even hurt. Can we go get ice cream?”

A few months ago, I was really, really afraid of something. It stole my sleep, and caused a lot of tears, and kept me constantly on edge. I remember telling my mom, “I wish that it would just happen – that way, I wouldn’t need to be afraid of it anymore.”

Finally, it happened. And it was hard – for about a second. But then, the strangest thing occurred in my heart: I felt so much better, and moved forward. The thing that I was so afraid of was an obstacle, a hurdle, a hiccup in my journey. But once I was over it, the road became open and wide. And little by little, in the strangest ways, my prayer gets answered.

I think this calls for ice cream.

You are dying to know what I did this weekend. Trust me: you are.

Well, between meeting up with a fellow Annie who is moving to Nashville in the summer (and who is AWESOME and HYSTERICAL and TOTALLY friend-material), dumpster diving for Vanderbilt dorm left-overs, and crying my way through church (it happens), I attended the Iroquois Steeplechase.

Late on Friday afternoon, co-worker offered me two free passes to Steeplechase – and not just any passes: wristbands that would get me into the CORPORATE VILLAGE, full of free food and booze.

Dude. I am so in.

However, sadly, since it was such late notice, I didn’t know anyone who could attend with me. Did that stop me? Oh, I think not. On Saturday morning, I thought to myself, “I could stay home by myself, or I could go to a free event by myself.” And honestly, why else did I have a plaid, belted sundress just hanging in my closet?

Exactly.

So I curled my hair, and put on my makeup and my cute dress, and drove down to Percy Warner Park for a classy, high-society event of a Steeplechase.

If you’re anything like me, you would be freaking out about what people might wear to a horse race. I had no idea. Luckily, I had watched the Kentucky Derby enough times on TV to know that I at least needed to wear a dress.

And now, let me take it upon myself to be the solver of your future quagmires. If you ever find yourself in the position that I found myself in – free tickets, and no idea of what might be wardrobe-appropriate for an equestrian event – then take it from me. Because, as I discovered, an event like this is not really about the horses – it’s all about the attire.

If you’re a woman, you wear this.

And if you’re a man, you wear this.

Seriously, if I was to give an award for the best hat of the day, it would be to this woman. A fabulous hat, without being gaudy. Congratulations, Winner of Annie’s Hat Contest! You set a classy example for us all.

You probably have some questions for me. And I am here to answer them. Preemptively. That’s right: I am going to answer questions that you have yet to vocalize.

We’ll start with some obvious ones.

Annie, can we see your new earrings?
Of course!

I got these from Mud & Mint’s Etsy shop, where there are all sorts of lovely things available.

What else are you coveting from Etsy these days?
If by “covet” you mean, “think about as I fall asleep at night, and fantasize about all of the different possible uses for, and stand flabbergasted that something so amazingly perfect exists,” then it would have to be this:

I’m swooning. Literally. This is the world’s most amazingly ideal, best-case-scenario bag. I’m saving my pennies, and thinking about harvesting pop cans from the side of the freeway for nickels. And busking for quarters.

What else do you want, besides that bag?
A massage. That is always the answer.

How long are you going to live in Nashville?
Longer than you think.

Or.

Shorter than you think.

Depending on how long you think.

(I really have no earthly idea. What should I do with my life? If you have any ideas, my comment board is an open forum.)

When can we hear some of the songs that you are allegedly writing? You ARE writing, right? Not that we would know. Since there’s nothing to prove that you are actually writing any new material.
I’m glad you asked! I have some studio time scheduled for next week, and will hopefully get 2 new demos out of the deal.

I’ve actually been writing quite a bit lately. Are the songs “good”? Well, “good” is a relative term. I think that they stand on their own. I think that they’re better than my early material. I think that I like them, and that’s a fairly new feeling for me.

Don’t worry: you will be alerted just as soon as these songs are available to be listened to. I’ll throw them on MySpace, and we’ll have a song-unveiling party right here on the blog. Bring beer.

Do you miss Seattle?
Desperately. Every day.

I know that I tend to be a revisionist, and idealize certain times in my life which, in actuality, were far from perfect.

But I kind of think that my life in Seattle was close to perfect.

Maybe someday I’ll look back on this time in Nashville and think the same thing. Like, “Remember when I used to walk around the grocery store for free-sample dinners? Remember when I sat in silence at a desk for 8-hours each day? Remember the feeling of being completely anonymous, but not exactly in a good way? Remember the roaches? Yeah. That was awesome.”

So. Maybe not “awesome.” But “living.” And really – aren’t those two words kind of the same thing?

Even in the doldrums of everyday life, me thinks yes.

Can we ask you more questions?
Sure! Post any that you have for me, and I’ll try my best to answer them.

Things I Must Do In My Lifetime
-or-
The Living Big – a detailed account

(continued…)

76) Make a balloon animal.
77) Have a respectable savings account.
78) Write an anonymous note and leave it for a stranger to find.
79) Find a cure for hiccups (I’m really close).
80) Figure out why everyone has suddenly started using the word “fierce.”
81) Renovate a kitchen.
82) Have a knock-out, dress-up, genuinely rockin’ New Year’s Eve.
83) Get highlights in my hair.
84) Let someone with the need live with me for free.
85) Somehow get my rugs from Seattle to where I live now.
86) Have a gift wrap drawer.
87) Learn to take beautiful pictures. Ashley?
88) Stay at a Bed & Breakfast.
89) Watch all 3 “Lord of the Rings” movies in one long day.
90) Feel good about my body.
91) Knit a scarf. So… learn to knit.
92) See “Lost” through to the universe-tilting, amazingly climactic ending.
93) Watch my nephews grow into excellent men.
94) Be passionate about a career. All ideas are welcome.
95) Have an “instant hot” faucet on my kitchen sink.
96) Invest.
97) Get my wine rack back from Miranda.
98) Learn to love without expecting anything in return.
99) Write the occasional good song.
100) Have something named after me: a street, a star, a brownie recipe… it could be anything.

BONUS FEATURE:

Things I am indifferent about, and thus do not need to do before I die:

1) Parasail.
2) Sky-dive.
3) Snorkel.
4) Experience the Bahamas.
5) Run a full marathon.
6) Eat pickles.
7) Swim with sharks or whales or any kind of sea creature.
8) Be famous.
9) Attend an NFL game.
10) Have surgery.
11) Spelunk.
12) Go to a Kenny Chesney concert.
13) Go back to school for a higher degree.
14) Run naked through a public place.
15) Register for china.

BONUS BONUS FEATURE:

When in doubt that life is worth living, that there is anything good or sunshiney or true, there’s always this:

Things I Must Do In My Lifetime
-or-
The Living Big – a detailed account

(continued…)

51) Cultivate a bonsai tree.
52) Go whale watching.
53) Love the people who drive me the most crazy.
54) Live in Seattle again.
55) Ice skate without falling.
56) Read the entire Bible.
57) Eat at Canlis.
58) Send something to Post Secret.
59) Press pretty flowers, just because.
60) Milk a cow.
61) Go to a party on a roof-top deck.
62) Sit on a beach in New Zealand.
63) Master the art of barbequing.
64) Re-take-up scrapbooking. But this time, cooler. No more die-cuts.
65) Be someone’s hero.
66) Learn to bartend.
67) Hug a koala bear.
68) Hug my husband.
69) Hug my baby.
70) Change my own flat tire.
71) Fly first class.
72) Memorize how to make an origami crane.
73) Start a book club.
74) Throw a dinner party, complete with cloth napkins and place-cards.
75) Write a fan letter to Jim Halpert. Not John Krasinkski. Definitely Jim Halpert.

Things I Must Do In My Lifetime
-or-
The Living Big – a detailed account

(continued…)

26) Own a Mazda 3 hatchback with seat-warmers and a stick-shift.
27) Go to Italy. Bask.
28) Try lobster.
29) Run a half-marathon.
30) Throw a surprise party for someone awesome.
31) Actually read all of the books that I own.
32) Learn how to use Photoshop.
33) Master my hair-do, my wardrobe, and my eating habits.
34) Go wine-tasting in Napa with some good friends.
35) Grow flowers in a window box.
36) Take an art class.
37) Be in another musical. One where I get to sing and shuffle-ball-change.
38) Drive the length of the BC coast.
39) Go on an Alaskan cruise.
40) Own a house with a barn so I can have little baby animals.
41) Ride in a helicopter.
42) Go to a major awards show. I don’t care what kind or which one.
43) Tie a tie.
44) Start my own business.
45) Have a porch swing.
46) Make frosting flowers.
47) Kick the body image issue.
48) Own my own set of tools in a cute, convenient case.
49) Ride a camel. Or an elephant, I guess. I’d settle for a donkey.
50) Mow a lawn – but preferably a small one, in cool weather, in a beautiful location, with mountains surrounding me, and birds chirping.