ILoveAllYallNashville.com

I love to get rid of things. Love. To. Get. Rid. Of. Things. It’s become a once or twice monthly ritual to take a small bag to the donation bin at Thrift Smart. I’ve learned over the years that “maybe I’ll need (or wear) this one day” means that I do not like it, will not use it, and should relinquish it to the world of savvy second-hand shoppers. It’s a freeing feeling to let go of s-t-u-f-f. (Though I’m constantly trying to find a balance of the sentimentality I feel for objects equated with memories, with the desire I feel to purge the extra and live clutter-free). The irony is that I also love to buy stuff. Love to buy stuff. Not buying for the sake of just owning more, but for the joy of finding a needed item or a special treasure at a bargain price. So I search the end-of-the-isle sales at Target, the reduced prices at TJ Maxx, and my favorite, the Nashville Flea Market.

Flea Markets are likely best loved by those who can both see potential in the not-yet-beautiful, AND who have the skill, artistry and patience to bring out that beauty. I did find an old dresser this year that I painted silver, (and felt very resourceful in reviving it!), but am admittedly not a DIY person. I see possibilities, but also fully appreciate the DIT (did it themselves), ready-to-purchase pieces. But I love that the broken can be made useful and the unloved can be made lovely in the right hands. Something about the vast array of the before-and-afters displayed by the various vendors serves as a visible analogy to me of the grander scale picture of beauty for ashes.

The Flea Market truly is the perfect mixture of the unfinished and the finished, the old and the made new, the mass produced and the one of a kind. Each month holds the possibility of finding something so unique, that I would likely be the only one to own it—something that would be a small reflection of who I am purely because I love it. But I’m also amused each month by pondering the extreme peculiarity of some items and wondering about the story of the person who would actually be interested in purchasing them. Who needs a 3-D, 6-foot metal bear? Who will be delighted to find the bench with car doors for sides? The assorted variety of goods, oddities and collectables offered for sale all endear me somehow to the individuality of the potential buyers I’m squeezing past and trying not to bump in to.

I own two dressers, a corner cabinet, a made-to-order couch, a ladder, and wood and metal decorative signs, all from Nashville’s Flea Market. I’ve also found new children’s books for presents, reduced-priced hygiene products, discounted perfume, local honey, handmade notecards and artisan jewelry. But as much as I love the home décor, gifts, and money-saving necessities I’ve bought, it is the experience of going and being there that I value the most. It’s you and hundreds of others, and yet you’re all there together, enduring the oppressive Tennessee heat or the chilly early winter winds, all searching the fairgrounds with anticipation of what might be found. I love seeing the walking-weary headed back to their cars with their purchases in hand, each with a look of accomplishment and satisfaction on their sunburnt faces—the $5 parking fee, the time, the hunting, the creative imagination—it all paid off. They now have a newly discovered treasure that will help them express to others, however simply or boldly, a little more clearly who they uniquely are.

First blog. First entry. Every blogger has their first. Mine happens to be today. 🙂 I love life, I love Nashville, and I love life in Nashville. I’m one of the few natives—there seemingly aren’t many of us here. I haven’t quite figured out if this town really is a launching pad for its homegrown, and a landing pad for newcomers, or if it’s just that we’re largely outnumbered by those who uproot from other cities and decide to put roots down here. But it’s the combination of the locals and the transplants that makes us uniquely us—so, I love all y’all. (As a native southerner, I admit I do use “y’all”, “I reckon”, and “bless your heart” regularly in conversation). Other than several years of my childhood spent living a few miles down 65S in the nearby town of Columbia (aka, the mule capital of the world), and a short stint living in South America, Nashville has always been home.

The risk of being a local is taking for granted all of the Music City attractions the tourists flock here to see and hear (and taste). Of course, we Nashvillians have our favorite spots that don’t necessarily make it on the visitor’s radar (e.g Baja Burrito and Phat Bites are my personal go-to restaurants here!). And we have the standard fare for large cities of beautiful parks, fun shopping, professional sports teams, major concert tours and great dining that can keep us all busy and content.

But for someone born and raised here, it took me way too long to finally make it out to America’s one and only, infamous Grand Ole Opry (even though I was right by it multiple times growing up since we regularly visited Opryland Theme Park as kids). I just always assumed I could and would make it there, so it was never a priority. But once I went for the first time last year, it felt like my soul fit there. You know that rare combination of a place and an experience that creates the perfect moment of happiness? That was me at the Opry. I’m not a musician, but music, especially live music, (and especially country music) delights my heart in a way nothing else does.

So, just over the past couple years, I’ve made a conscious decision to fully experience my hometown. I’m trying to make it to every music venue, every local coffee shop and brewery, to new restaurants (that is getting harder by the day to keep up with!), to various festivals and to all the within-driving-distance waterfalls (stretching a bit outside the city limits, but love the accessibility of the beautiful outdoors of middle TN!). I find myself wanting to share the joy of the things I love here, be it a walk at Radnor Lake, a cheeseburger at Puckett’s, or live Bluegrass at The Station Inn. Anyone who has been here for longer than a vacation has likely already experienced those gemstones of Nashville; but on the chance I can encourage or inspire anyone to more fully engage in the sights and tastes and sounds right outside your back door, then I’ll keep sharing what I find.

I know Nashville doesn’t need more hype. This will just be one girl’s story of being intentional about learning to bloom where she’s planted, and of somehow learning to know herself (and the God who always knew her) better, and to love life even more in the process.