Having crossed the North Carolina-Tennessee border exactly
ten times since deciding to move to Nashville this past February, it seems
completely appropriate to me that I should spend the next two weeks hiking the
224-mile stretch of the Appalachian Trail along this shared border. The line
divides my two home states: one in which I was born and spent my first three
years, one in which I grew up in the twenty years following. The former where I
now claim residence, the latter where my mind will always go when I hear the
word “home.” Maybe, after my upcoming year of living in Nashville, Tennessee
will begin to hold feelings of home. Starting tomorrow and for the next two
weeks, I’ll walk that line quite literally. I’ll walk it figuratively in the
next twelve months — and maybe longer; my 12-month lease is, terrifyingly, the
only plan I have for my immediate or long-term future.
So here’s to the land of the long-leaf pine, and here’s to
the Volunteer State. Here’s to being born in a city sought by dreamers, and for
having the chance to return as a young adult overwhelmed by the infinite
possibilities of young adulthood. Here’s to a lost Tar Heel finding my beat in
Music City — to all the steps I’ve planned, and the unknown steps I’ll take
after.
