I’m back in Nashville this week, working in the office and seeing friends. Every time I come back to Nashville, I’m struck by two things: how much this place still feels like home – and how things can’t ever be the way that they were before.
The longing for “the way things were” is my Achilles’ heel, and it has the power to sink me like a cinder block. It doesn’t matter what my present looks like, or what the past actually was like – nostalgia is a revisionist, and cuts out the tough things so that only the best memories remain.
But I’m in my little row boat on the river of life, and time is the current that’s pulling me forward, forward, forward. I’m thankful for the places I’ve seen, and the the people I’ve met, and the opportunities and adventures that have surprised me along the way. I’ve survived rapids and waterfalls and the occasional overturned boat, only to find that the stream just keeps going. Paddling back the other direction doesn’t get me very far, and leaves me frustrated and tired (not to mention hungry for a hot dog).
So I choose to be content in this little wooden vessel, oars at the ready to help determine my course, but ultimately trusting that the river is pulling me in the right direction. This week, it’s looped me back through Nashville – and as always, I’m grateful.