The history of your town of your life will pass you by.
Please try to understand. Don't get me wrong. I am from Nashville. 1962. I've lived here through our ridicule. I grew up in an appreciation of truly talented musicians. Now as I stand in an anomaly in a crowd at the War Memorial, I am not pleased as I would be at the Ryman. The band is quality, the crowd not so much. This crowd of Vanderbilt, Belmont privileged, I resent the corporate attack on my birthright. I grew up in ridicule of Hee Haw only to see the explosive welcome and disregard of my southern heritage, of a small town gobbled up by condos by the influx of hipsters. So, as they move in I am moving out.
When you are on the last bit of your down slide, if you don't pour everything into it, you'll never feel the ecstasy of the crash. We all need something to look back on as our lives flash before us. And I don't need this when there is the Cumberland Plateau, Ridge and Valley, Smokey Mountains/Appalachian Trail.
Lord of the decadent.
I'd rather take the unknown and make something happen amongst instilled fear and risk all that exists rather feel secure in the anchor of suffocation, waiting for the moment to arrive.
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