I have often concerned myself more with becoming instead of merely being. I thought the future was going to reveal some amazing secrets about me. I confess that the promise of a better me or a better future distracted me from the opportunities of the moment. As I’ve aged, and I’m no longer confronted by endless possibility, I’m better able to see how well I might live right this very moment, with no self-improvement necessary.
Last night, I went out blues dancing at Cumberland Park, Nashville’s new riverfront park. Many of the parking lots and streets next to LP Field and the Shelby pedestrian bridge were cordoned off to accommodate a autocross festival that will take place starting today.
I found I could not park where I otherwise would, which is on the east side of the stadium where the pedestrian bridge walkway lands. I drove about, looking for a way to the riverfront. Heading roughly east from the stadium, I made my way to the corner of Davidson and 2nd. I ignored the “Road Closed” signs across Davidson at 1st in favor of trusting the signs that said “Cumberland Park Access.”
Under the Korean War Memorial bridge, there was a parking lot that I hadn’t noticed before, along with signs for Cumberland Park. I tentatively parked, and made my way westward along the railroad tracks towards the footings of the pedestrian bridge. I had not been to the park but a couple of times, and this was the only way I could figure out to access it.
Arriving in the park next to the bridge, I looked around and saw no one, saw no lights, and heard no music save for the echoes from the bars across the river. A man and a woman walked down the stairs from the bridge to the park. I almost yelled out to them if they knew where the dancing was.
Instead, they sat on a bench, and engaged in what I imagine most couples would do in an empty park next to the river. I sat and fiddled with my phone, feeling sorry for myself. I wondered if I had misremembered the date for the night of blues dancing.
Because I recently switched phones, I couldn’t find the number of anyone who might be at the event. Instead, I put a message on the Facebook event page, after checking to see that I did, indeed, have the dates right. Then I figured that if I couldn’t dance because I didn’t have the insider knowledge meant to be a part of the scene, I’d explore the parts of the park I hadn’t seen yet.
I walked away from the pedestrian bridge with the river to my right. I noted all the ways they’d improved on this spectacular park. And suddenly, from out of the quiet, I heard people calling my name. There they were, on the stage, with the speakers pointed away from where I was, and no lights.
There were a dozen or two dozen dancers, at most. Perhaps others had been deterred by the road closures that made getting there inconvenient. Alternatively, they would not come to this, the first weekly blues dance in the park for the year, but instead dances later in the season. Whatever the causes of others’ absences may have been, I had discovered my secret riverfront dance party in the park.
What an amazing thing to share an entire riverfront landscape with a mere dozen or so people! It was magical. Soon after I arrived, the lights on the stage turned on, bathing us all with varied hues. We danced there under these lights, next to the river, in sight of the bridges, and with the hubbub of Broadway distantly audible.
My AirBnB guests, a young couple from London, arrived at 2nd and Russell. They texted to say they couldn’t figure out where to park. I walked back to my car, drove the four blocks or so to where they were, and lead them back to the park. When they arrived at the stage where there were dancers, they were amazed. “You would never find something so pretty in London,” the woman exclaimed. “People on a pretty night in a park by the river, dancing– it would never happen.”
I felt so pleased. So often, I have a complaint about my lot in life. And yet when I go out and see this beautiful city, and dance to its music, I know that good things have happened for me in my life. It is not in London, not in New York, not in San Francisco where an otherwise-empty park is filled with blues dancers. Rather it is Nashville, where I, by stumbling blindly forward, have come to live. I have come to the right place.
Within ten minutes of my house by bicycle or car, some of the best musicians in the world are performing for tips, only. Within ten minutes of my house, there is an unlimited amount of dancing to blues, jazz, swing, and traditional American music.
Happiness is not in things, nor professional identity, nor money, nor having the best job ever. No: happiness is in us. Long live the music! Long live dance! Long live Nashville!
