On to Nashville, On the Edge of July

On to Nashville, in large part to reconnect with a former student of mine who is working toward a PhD in philosophy at Vanderbilt. She and I had struck up a Facebook re-acquaintance several years ago, and I admire her commitment to the real deal regarding equity, social and economic justice, humane acceptance of and freedom for all kinds of people and fighting (risking life and limb) for progressive causes. Her involvement with street protests in Nashville is particularly impressive, given the fact that a law that granted immunity to people who run over protestors who are blocking the street almost passed there. She has gotten training in being a safety officer and teaches protestors how to get hit by a car in such a way that minimizes the trauma. That’s what it’s like out there.

She’s also effectively living a polyamorous, non-monogamous life among people who have unconventional views of gender. She and I have talked a lot about poly and shared some of the incredible challenges that can arise when living it, not just theorizing about it. She was one of the few people who understood how, even though A and I were poly, the partnership could end due to an outside relationship for A. Many people have a rather black and white view of these things, but my friend in Nashville knows the ups and downs of the arrangement from experience. Additionally, she shares some of my neuro-atypical challenges, so that is another thing we have often talked about.

I knew absolutely nothing about Nashville, other than its reputation as Music City USA (which I’ve always found annoying, since most of the music I love is from other cities). My prejudices regarding everything Southern were definitely operating, both consciously and unconsciously. But I also thought it would be fascinating to get a glimpse of a counterculture in Nashville via my friend.

My first night there, June 30, I got on the internet and looked for something interesting to do. My friend and I were not scheduled to meet up until the next day. A lot of suggestions revolved around "12 South", so I decided to head over there. It was impressively caucasian and gentrified. There were a handful of high end restaurants that looked interesting, a small crowd of (white) people walking around, some drunkenly, and a sort of weirdly snobby vibe. It seemed the same as every upscale, gentrified little glamour neighborhood everywhere. I did have a couple excellent appetizers at one of the restaurants (for $30!) and enjoyed walking around.

But it was still haunting me. The breakup with A. Still so many reminders. This or that restaurant would have been where we would have gone, this or that commentary on the scene, the people, this or that partnering walk through the world. Not present. Past. Over and gone. But not gone. That weird purgatory where we’re still holding on, even against our will. Especially against our will. This particular evening, it was a rough feeling, largely because I had felt some progress in letting go during the week of professional obligations and the trip to Little Rock. But the black eyed dog was back, calling at my door.