Nearly 15 years ago to the day, I moved to Nashville to escape an ugly divorce and a life that had started to feel like a rerun. Same job, same town, same routine, same bullshit wearing a slightly different shirt. I came here with very little money and a brother willing to give me a place to stay. From there, I built a life I was proud of. I found great jobs, bought a great house, made some incredible memories, and developed a real love for Nashville.
Nashville was good to me. For a long time, it gave me exactly what I needed. It gave me distance from the life I was leaving, room to become somebody different, and enough chaos to keep me entertained while I figured out who the hell that person was supposed to be. But lately, I could feel the old loop starting again. Same town, same house, same routine, same rut getting deeper every year.
The difference this time was that I was stuck in a version of Nashville I did not even like that much anymore. There is no 3 Crow Bar, no Joey’s House of Pizza, no Tenn16, and Margot’s is gone. My favorite Broadway bar was swallowed by some country singer’s latest “authentic Nashville experience,” which apparently means a cover charge, a line around the block, and a drink priced like it comes with dental insurance. The Nashville I loved was weird, dirty, welcoming, slightly dangerous, and cheap enough that normal people could still participate in it. Now half the city looks like it was designed by a focus group trying to sell bachelorette parties as a lifestyle package.
Nashville was cool to me, but that has not really been true since about 2019. Meanwhile, every time I go back to visit in Grand Rapids, I am surprised by what has changed. New bars, new restaurants, new stores, and new places to hear music. Leonard Street and Bridge Street remind me of East Nashville 10 years ago, before East Nashville became gentrification surrounding a vape shop and a place selling twelve-dollar toast. Somehow, Grand Rapids now feels more East Nasty than East Nasty does. Over the river and through the hood forever!
As of July 5, my house is officially under contract. The inspections are done, and the appraisal happens tomorrow. This is no longer something I am thinking about doing. It is happening. That is exciting, and it is also scary as hell. A friend called it the end of an era, and that is not too far from the truth. This house represents the version of me who came to Nashville with almost nothing and slowly built something solid.
Then today, I sold my zero-turn mower. It was the first mower I ever bought brand new, and I treated it like an elderly man treats a Corvette. It was cleaned, maintained, babied, and protected. Selling it was the first real item on what I have started calling the Point of No Return List. Mazie wants me to spread the bills on the floor so she can take some OnlyPaws photos on them. Damn cat.
The house is paperwork, inspections, appraisals, and people emailing PDFs nobody truly understands. The mower was different. A guy showed up, loaded it onto a trailer, and drove away with a physical piece of the life I am leaving behind. All of this feels a little like a breakup. You can be the one ending the relationship and still grieve when it is over. You can know it is the right decision and still wonder whether you have completely fucked up your life.
That is where I am right now. I made the decision. I believe it is the right one. I am still sad about it. For now, I am going to take things slowly and try not to overthink every possible version of the future, which should go extremely well given my long and distinguished history of never overthinking anything.
I am also putting myself on a strict six-month No Buying Bullshit rule. No immediately replacing everything I sell. No panic-buying a new identity. No deciding that healing requires a diesel truck, a fifth wheel, a motorcycle, a Rolex, and forty acres of forest before Labor Day. For six months, I want to live differently and see what actually matters. What do I miss? What do I need? What can I live without?
Maybe the next chapter is another house. Maybe it is an RV. Maybe it is a small place where I can walk to a bar without needing a designated driver or a rideshare app.
That is future Q’s problem.
For now, I am just another piece of stardust flying through space, grieving a city I still love and trying very hard not to fill the uncertainty with expensive impulsive purchases.
See ya soon Michigan
Q
Q is a semi domesticated carpetbagger, homeless meat popsicle, and professional overthinker with hopes of retiring before all his friends. Skilled in the witchcraft of not giving a damn about the Joneses and fueled by a did it or damn it mentality, he wanders around with Mazie Mae, his ever salty cat with strong opinions and a powerful addiction to chicken treats. Together, they have embarked on a quest they never knew started, to find something they did not know they were looking for, in a place they have not reached yet.
His thoughts are his own.
He is no role model.
Read at your own risk.
