back in the saddle

I'm in Tennessee. I set down some pretty sweet little roots whilst here for three years and had a tryst with a hipster city. The music, the vibe, the Breakfast Sandwich, the hills, even Tater the Cat all perched here waiting on me. Cities have a way of remaining faithful. In London, I was given the gift to dream. To live in the greatest city on earth and walk her streets and sit in her parks and shop her vibrant windows and dream. Think, pray, plead and eat. Read a book. The same prayer uttered over and over as I tried to uncover the next step. London offered respite and inspiration. You can't stand in the Victoria and Albert Museum and not gape at the wonder of humanity and the grandness of human beings. Creative, big dreamers. After three unforgettable months surrounded by the dearest of friends and endless cups a tea, I began to wake up and remember my dream. 

I took one I'd shelved and filled out a college application and surprisingly got accepted. My Skype interview conducted with my laptop on my knees from a tiny office in the sweet church in East London where I was working at the time. I applied there because they were in the hipster city I had a crush on. I would need a job if I were back in school so I looked for one of those and landed something within weeks of being back in the States. It's a sweet little work-from-home gig working with the most selfless, kind, hardworking and caring people on earth, foster families. And so today, I sat around a long table with a room full of State employees decked out in their Jos. A. Bank and Ann Taylor Loft and ID badges clipped to their waists and listened to the Governor make a speech about something wonderful they'd accomplished within child welfare. It made me miss my State Employee clan, Gardner Sapp in his short-sleeved Dilbert dress shirt. I should be proud of the policies I worked on and the legislation we passed, but I just remember hours of laughing until I cried as we gossiped and howled with laugher about the endless drama under the Gold Dome. All those stories you just can't make up about dirty old men and smoked filled rooms where laws were made and Vienna sausages were devoured.

So my whine on repeat of, "What's next?", has an answer. In part. I am thrilled to help this organization grow and be a voice for the foster families of Tennessee. And I am really giddy about being back in Nashville, y'all!