We have this saying in Nashville: “You can’t throw a rock without hitting a songwriter.” And honestly, whoever coined it probably grew up here, too. They understand what it’s like to love everything about this city while simultaneously itching to get as far away from it as possible. That’s exactly how I feel about East Nashville—it’s home, but sometimes it’s also too much.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore my hometown. Where else can you find a place where cowboy boots count as formalwear, food trucks serve biscuits better than your grandma’s, and everyone knows the second verse of “Jolene”? Living here has been like growing up with an older sibling who's gloriously talented but always hogging the limelight. Some days I’m awestruck; other days, I just want to move out and change my last name.

The Love: Southern Comfort and Sentimental Ties

When I talk about East Nashville, I realize I’m describing more than just a place. It’s woven into the melody of who I am, thanks to the mix of quirky street festivals, late-night guitar sessions, and my musical family’s constant soundtrack. I grew up where porch swings are therapy sessions, and the scent of magnolias hangs heavier than humidity in July.

There’s a romanticism about the South that’s easy to fall for. My childhood was spent sipping sweet tea at block parties and harmonizing with whistles of trains in the distance. My dad’s guitar would often be the headliner at our impromptu backyard concerts while my mom’s mac ‘n’ cheese recipes brought in more guests than Facebook invites ever could. These small moments carved a sense of belonging in me, a feeling that home was more than four walls; it was people, music, and community.

It’s hard not to love a place where music is practically in your DNA. When I walk into a dive bar on a random Tuesday night and find someone spilling their heart out into a mic, I feel like I’m connected to something timeless. East Nashville has a way of making you believe in the magic of possibility.

The Hate: Locals-Only Exhaustion

But let me tell you, nothing sets your teeth on edge like hearing yet another out-of-towner brag about their “authentic Nashville experience.” You went to a line-dancing bar on Broadway? Groundbreaking. There’s an irony in how a city built on authenticity can feel overrun by people trying to prove they’ve found it.

There’s also the smothering familiarity of a small town dressed up as a big city. There are only so many times you can run into your middle school crush at Kroger before you consider converting to online grocery shopping. And let’s not forget the peculiar art of “bless your heart,” a phrase that’s somehow both a condolence and an insult, depending on the inflection. Nothing screams passive-aggression like Southern politeness.

East Nashville can feel like a stage that demands constant participation. Everyone’s in a band, married to someone in a band, or thinking about quitting their job to start a band. It’s charming until it’s exhausting—like dating someone who turns every conversation into a discussion about their screenplay.

The Dichotomy: Feeling at Home and Out of Place

My conflict with East Nashville boils down to this: I can love it with all my heart and still feel like I don’t quite fit in. Growing up here means being surrounded by creative ambition, which is inspiring but also intimidating. Everyone has an origin story cooler than yours; everyone’s chasing a dream so loudly you might forget to value your own.

It’s a lot like a relationship. Some days, you’re head over heels, obsessing over how perfect your partner—or your hometown—seems. Other days, you’re nitpicking all the quirky habits that once made you fall in love. Growing up in East Nashville feels like being married to someone slightly more interesting than you, but with an uncanny ability to bring you back down to earth. It keeps me grounded, even when I think I want to take off running.

How Leaving Can Strengthen the Bond

Studying abroad in London was my big romance with the unknown. It felt thrilling to step out of the Nashville bubble and into a world where no one cared about who your dad jammed with on the weekends. London showed me how big the world really is—a sharp contrast to how sometimes, East Nashville makes the world feel like four square blocks.

But you know what traveling taught me? No matter where you go, home follows. I’d be walking along the Thames and suddenly miss the neon signs of Broadway or the crackly station wagon radios playing George Strait. You don’t realize how deeply rooted you are in a place until you try to live without the things you’ve always taken for granted. London broadened my horizons, but East Nashville reminded me why having roots is just as important as wings.

Lessons for Relationships: Embrace the Messy Middle

Home, like love, isn’t about perfection. It’s about the give and take, the moments that make you want to stay, and the moments that tempt you to leave. Having a love/hate relationship with where you grew up is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I think it’s beautifully human.

So, if you’re reading this and struggling in a similar tug-of-war with your hometown—or even your current partner—here’s what I’ve learned:
- Take breaks when you need to. A little distance can give you clarity, whether it’s hopping on a plane or just getting out of your usual routine.
- Celebrate quirks, even when they annoy you. The things that make a place (or a person) unique are often the same things that will make you miss them later.
- Remember why you fell in love to begin with. Nostalgia is an underrated form of therapy, and sometimes all it takes is a trip down memory lane (or to your neighborhood coffee shop) to reignite the spark.

Coming Full Circle

I used to think the goal was to figure out if I loved or hated East Nashville. Now I know it’s not that simple. Like any long-term relationship, my connection to home exists in the messy middle ground between those two extremes. And honestly, that’s where all the best stories happen anyway.

So, for now, I’ll stay put—appreciating the charm, tolerating the annoyances, and maybe writing songs about them both. After all, this place might drive me crazy sometimes, but it’s also where I learned to write my lyrics, tell my stories, and find my voice. And isn’t that love, in all its complicated glory?