Walkin' After Midnight

This article appears in The East Nashvillian Sept/Oct 2013 Issue, p. 29

When I traded Los Angeles for Nashville in 2007, I did it with more than a little trepidation. The guy I was shadowing was a 40-something entrenched bachelor, a drummer who had been on the road for decades. My creative heart was broken in L.A., and I was in search of a fresh start. As I dreamed of a new home with lush green trees and summer storms, I also felt my throat tighten at the thought of long, dark, winding roads with sporadic street lights. I would miss my city streets.

Over the 10 years I spent in New York and L.A., I developed a habit of walking for hours in the middle of the night. It was a form of therapy I cultivated in my twenties to deal with catastrophically bad body image and mounting anxiety. No matter how many late-night slices I ate, no matter how many cocktail waitressing gigs and temp jobs I got fired from, I could always walk. The sidewalks were my lifeline, and they were free.

When I made the move to Tennessee, for my sanity, I needed to know I would have sidewalks to pace long after everyone else pulled the blinds and crawled into bed. Steps from my front door, I longed to be able to turn left or right and start strolling.

When I landed in the heart of Lockeland Springs, I discovered I could breathe. The sidewalks went up and down hills, passed by old houses in various states of rehabilitation, and opened onto Shelby Park. At the time, Five Points was growing, but I never dreamed I would be lucky enough to live squarely in the middle of what I can only describe as one of the most welcoming neighborhoods I have ever known.

Over the years, as I walked - accompanied by my four-legged babies, Elvin and then Ringo - I put on my headphones and watched the transformation of East Nashville through the eyes of Will Hoge, Jack Silverman, and Erin McCarley. I saw storefronts come and go, and one day noticed that they came and stayed. Structures were erected in empty lots to house shops for people who create things with their hands and display them for voyeurs like me, Elvin, and Ringo.

The sidewalks have introduced me to people who care for five, six, or even seven foster dogs to keep them from being euthanized by Metro Animal Control. They rescue these bedraggled souls from the street, provide them medical care and doggie biscuits, and treat them like family until they find forever homes.

I walked nightly until I found an outdoor patio with a beautiful, tattooed waitress who brought me cabernet while I looked up at the stars, inhaling the maple trees and knockout roses framing the view.

When I had a baby not too long ago - a small human who keeps me homebound more than I might like - the sidewalks emancipated me in a whole new way. The mini-man and I have struck out for epic walks almost every day since he was born, and the neighborhood has continued to stretch and yawn wider and deeper than I ever could have imagined.

It has risen up with a Pavilion two blocks from my house that hosts weekly concerts and Sunday brunches. It has surprised me with a Hootenanny just a few blocks further flung where I can sit under a tree with my boys (two- and four-legged), drink lemonade, and watch the sun go down with music dancing in my ears.

I do a double-take at least once a week, walking by a house that was transformed seemingly overnight or a restaurant packed to overflowing where there used to be a hair salon. I have found a yoga studio, an ice cream shop, two farmers markets, and a park with a picnic table and an unrestricted view of a gleaming fire engine… every little dude’s dream come true.

When I moved here, I was looking for a place to heal, a place where it would be okay that I came from L.A. and wasn’t all that enamored with cowboy hats. I had one non-negotiable. My need for sidewalks led me to East Nashville, a place where I can start walking and never stop.

Recently, Karl Dean has taken to fixing my sidewalks, making them smooth and shiny, and he will never know the depth of my gratitude… and the gratitude of all the dog walkers, stroller pushers, and little ones learning to walk who will traverse the safety of our East Nashville sidewalks in the years to come as we watch schools, hookah shops, and sushi restaurants pop up like dandelions in the summer sun.