I moved to Nashville in 1991. Before then, I had lived in 13 places by my 18th year as a military brat, gone to college in the Midwest and lived in West Texas for a decade. I loved the people of West Texas but for a man raised largely in Europe the culture was a stretch. When I arrived in Nashville, I found a home.
Nashville is sophistication in denim. It is where the South meets Yankee culture with a smile and without letting go of too much. It is where the self-important never last but the art never ends. Nashville is my home. I love the accents, the heritage and the way the past calls gently through monuments and architecture to an all too unaware present. I’ve gotten use to how a road can change names three times before you get where you’re going and how the restaurant you loved last week is gone this week and how tourists think nothing of asking you if you’re somebody famous. I love Nashville.
Over this past weekend, my city drank in nearly 14 inches of rain. For perspective, the most rain she had endured at one time in all her history was just under 7. Now, much of my city is under water. There is fear and anguish, heartache and the disorientation that comes from the feeling that life is spinning out of control.
My city is going to rise. You can already see it in the eyes of the restaurant owner on Second Avenue and the Belmont University student who says she will take classes in a park if she has to. Nashville is going to be better than ever. One day you will come here and attend a convention or take in some bluegrass or drop your son off at one of our amazing schools. You’ll be tempted to doubt that there ever was a flood here because we are going to be so brilliant and new and fun.
In the meantime, we need time to heal. Pray for us. And watch this website and others for ways you can help. Neither the music nor Music City has died. We’ll just be back for the rest of our show after this brief intermission.