You know when your phone shows you photos of yourself “one year ago today,” and you are forced to stop and pause and reminisce over a year of changes? Today was one of those days, although the photo my phone showed me wasn’t of me – it was of twin hawks I saw sitting in a dead tree on my family’s land, back in Georgia. But, still; a year-younger version of myself took that photo, and lived an entirely different life than the one I live now.
Between that photo and now, I moved states, started a new job, and experienced a lot of change that can’t necessarily be broadcasted on social media or tacked onto a resume. But as I come up on a year since moving – this August – and, perhaps more jarringly, a year since first getting a whiff that Nashville was in my future, I can’t help but reflect on not only my own change but change in general.
When I was in college, I used to listen to a song called “Rivers and Roads” by the Head and the Heart. It is a wistful folk ballad about people moving away, missing someone, and the general sense of inevitable change. There’s really only a few verses of topical lyrics, bookended by dreamy interludes and a long outro that speaks more in its melody than in word. Generally, it will leave you with a sense of melancholy remembrance of a time that is long gone, never to be experienced again.
Ironically, when I listened to it so religiously in college, I didn’t hear it as melancholy; I heard a song about anticipating change, and I dreamed of listening to it in the future when my life had changed, when I did move states, leaving everyone I knew behind. I wanted to be able to look back and say, “See! I did it! I moved away!” as if the song could become a fulfilled prophecy for me.
Even more ironically, that song sort of did become prophecy fulfilled; but not at all in the colors, moods, and mindsets I had expected.
The song is a sad one. It isn’t about the excitement of change, any notes of positivity could be interpreted as painful, even bitter; but ultimately, the song is full of the pangs of longing. And yet, it remains equally comforting for me, even as I now hear it more properly – and relate to it in a much truer sense than my younger self did.
Nothin' is as it has been
This time last year, I was still longing for change – deeply, and not in the naive way that a college student longs for the big, wide-open world. I felt lost and cast aside in the grand scheme of things, like my “real life was happening somewhere very far away” to quote Sally Rooney’s Normal People, a book I admit I haven’t actually read; such is the nature of good quotes that can transcend a work. Anyways.
I wanted to move, I wanted a breath of life in my career. I wanted something new and exciting to happen to me. My identity had become so wrapped up in what I do, I’d forgotten to see myself as the individual – the person who would listen wistfully to songs about change and dream of possibilities and get excited about what life had to offer. I was stuck on what life hadn’t been offering me lately.
And then, Nashville. It became a sudden and unexpected – totally unplanned – answer to many late-night prayers. Things snowballed slowly and cautiously at first, and then it seemed I’d be moving there within a month.
A new state, a city I liked, a fresh direction in my career, news I could post on Instagram – what more could I want?
Well, it turns out, I really didn’t want to go once it became official. I experienced a sharp turn of anxiety, fear, and discomfort. Suddenly the familiarity of a life I longed to leave behind became a wistful call, beckoning me back, like sirens on a rocky outcrop.
I fought it, and stayed the course, believing that once my feet stepped down on that sweet Tennessee soil I’d feel confident in my decision to leave. Wrong again, it seemed.
Instead of the reward of affirmation for my move, perhaps a spiritual round of applause where everything suddenly worked out for me, I felt like no matter what direction I moved in I was going against the current. I felt like I was being punished for my faithfulness. Problems cropped up, life was harder than I thought it would be, and through it all I felt alone. There is always a resounding reminder in my head that my problems are pretty privileged compared to other people; but where my head tried to resonate with reality, my soul felt no less parched and spent. I realized, eventually, that my emotional response to what are perhaps normal life events was the culprit here. But naming an enemy doesn’t make it go away.
It’s boring to talk about slow growth. Like I said before, a lot of the recent change in my life is pretty intangible to everyone but myself. But I am still here, talking about it.
Been talkin' 'bout the way things change
And my family lives in a different state
If you don't know what to make of this
Then we will not relate
Now that I’ve been here for almost a year, I can accept what I usually hate to accept: the gray area of life. The truth that must be held in both hands. While I spent much of the year regretting my decision, I can now say I’m glad I did it. While I spent most of the year angry and self-pitying, I can be proud of not letting those feelings stick around too long. While I spent the year battling for a sense of control, I can admit that I still haven’t given that up – perhaps I’ll never be able to. But, y’know, life goes on.
There often isn’t as solid of an answer on the other side of a problem as we’d like; but the truth lies more in our perspective of life’s problems than in their solutions.
I did move, and I’m glad I did.
I still miss my family and friends and the familiarity of life in Georgia.
I don’t know what the future holds. Has a more obvious statement ever been made?
The song is still a sad one; but the sadness that comes from nostalgia and remembering isn’t always something we should run from. We can be sad for a time long gone, while looking still hopefully for a future.
"Rivers & Roads" is the soundtrack of every great transition. Glad to have you in Nashville, gray & all.
Well said truth!