Thursday afternoon, I left home for a whirlwind trip to Nashville to attend a songwriters’ meet-up. I arrived just in time for the event, and when it was over, I debated whether to spend the night at a friend’s house like I’d planned or to drive back home. I opted to stay the night, but the evening was young and I had no other plans.

I decided to drive over to the Commodore Grille to eat dinner and catch the writers’ round. I sat at the bar and chatted for a few minutes with a young girl who would later be performing on that particular stage for the first time. While I ate Monterrey chicken, steamed broccoli and roasted parsley potatoes, I lost myself in watching multiple songwriters perform their music.

By a little after 9, I was tired and ready for sleep, so I made the twenty-minute drive to my friend’s house, where the only sounds in the dark were my feet shuffling and the whir of the fan. Though my body was ready for sleep, my mind was restless, so I laid still in the dark until I finally fell asleep at midnight.

I awoke at 3:30, and try as I might, I couldn’t fall back asleep. I tossed and turned until dawn started to break and birds just outside the window began to sing loud and long. Though I had no plans for the day other than driving home, I decided to rise early and see what the day held. I showered and dressed and left my friend’s house in time to get caught in rush-hour traffic.

I swung through a drive-through and grabbed a coffee to go, and decided to make my way over to Loveless Cafe for breakfast. I made the wise decision to take the slower, scenic route. The sky was bright blue and the sun beat down in glorious early-morning fashion. I let the windows down enough to feel a breeze. Surely, I made a few morning commuters testy as I drove in no hurry.

By the time I arrived at my destination, I had been charmed by Tennessee back roads. Nashville has long been my favorite city, but its back roads are truly a sight to behold. Upon being one of the early arrivers at Loveless, I dined on fried eggs, country ham, cheesy hash brown casserole, biscuits with blackberry jam, and more coffee. Between bites, I checked the map on my phone for the longest route back to the interstate. I needed to see more of what the back roads had to offer.

I grew up in small towns across Alabama and am no stranger to back roads and farm land, but the miles of wide-open spaces edged with split-rail fences were breathtaking. I listened to the radio as I drove, changing stations when advertisements came on. There were a couple of times I stopped on familiar songs I haven’t heard in years — songs I used to sing at church. Instead of finding another song like I usually do, I listened. I thought it strange that I can’t listen to those same songs at home, but wanted to hear them while driving down roads that felt more like home than my own neighborhood.

I’ve always thought Nashville has its own creative energy. Others will tell you the same. Yesterday, I discovered that its backroads have their own energy, too. As I wound around curves and over hills and through tree branches hanging over roads, I had an overwhelming desire to wade in creeks, walk through fields, paint a picture, write a story, sing a song.

Later, after making my way back to the interstate, I reflected on my early-morning, meandering drive. I realized those back roads gave me something I’ve been looking for: a sense of belonging. I’ve often said going to Nashville feels like going home, though I’ve never lived there. Yesterday, her back roads welcomed me, invited me to sing songs that usually stir up pain, and offered me a place to still my restlessness and grow my creative energy … even if only in my memory.