It has been almost a month since I returned from my first trip to Nashville. My first solo trip abroad at that. I had only ever been outside of the UK and Ireland once in my life before this point, and that was with other people. Many have commented since my return on “how brave” I was to go on my own. “Such a big thing”, some said. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that”.
This response got me thinking about courage. It was in many ways a leap of faith that led me to go ahead and book this trip. In fact, if it wasn’t for my faith then I’m not sure that I would even have gone. For this is something that I’ve dreamed about ever since my conversion to country music a few years ago. I remember looking at holiday packages doing tours to the Musical Heartlands of the American South both pre-Covid and post-pandemic. I could never quite bring myself to make the jump though, partly due to cost but mainly because of fear. It’s been interesting then, to that regard, to look back on the journey that I’ve been on to overcome this obstacle.
As a Christian, I believe in a God who is “patient and kind”. And for me, that patience has been shown in the way that I have been gently nudged to expand my horizons. A few years ago, Liverpool seemed like a far-flung place from my home in North East Wales. I remember being incredibly anxious when I took my first trip by car and then train to a job interview just outside the city. But this journey soon became routine enough that trips to Manchester and London by the same means followed. After initially looking at a trip to Nashville in 2019, I decided to take a day trip to London instead to see Vic Allen at the Green Note. The second time, in 2022, I opted to go on a Writer’s Retreat before heading to see a friend on the Isle of Man. These all felt like far safer and more comfortable options than flying across the pond, though I regretted another missed opportunity due to anxious fear.
My trip to the Isle of Man proved pivotal in allowing me to grow however, as did a solo trip to Country on the Coast in Portsmouth back in April. This is because I had to travel back from Douglas to Liverpool via plane. The process of online check-in, security, boarding, and the flight itself ended up being perfect practice for my later flights to and from America. Meanwhile, my time in Portsmouth was an opportunity to check into an independently-owned apartment and overcome my anxiety with regards keypads, fobs, and staying somewhere on my own. Though I didn’t know it at the time, these were small steps in giving me the confidence to know that I could do this. I didn’t need anyone else with me in order to travel.
To journey to another country though is a different kettle of fish. Even here though, little encouragements fed to me via musicians on Instagram made me believe that doing this trip was possible. ‘Plane Tickets‘ by Beth Keeping, in particular, proved most fruitful. Alongside these, my work colleague Paul’s trip to Switzerland (though not undertaken alone) was another gentle push towards believing, You can do this. It was my reading through the Psalms in the couple of months before I made the decision that sealed the deal. The key verse for me was “In the day of my fear, I put my trust in you”. It triggered a memory from a few years ago of a seminar that I attended on the relationship between faith and fear. The key message that I took away at the time was that God does not remove our fear but promises to be with us through it. It was this that spoke to me once more as I finally faced my fear and pushed through the anxiety to hit confirm on my flights to America. The swirling thoughts and mild panic attacks that followed in the intervening weeks were no less substantial after making this step. But it was also like anxiety had lost its grip on me somewhat. The extent to which would become clear when my plan was put into action.
Perhaps it was because I had planned out my trip beforehand that when it came to enact it, there was no anxiety to be found. Not even a terminated train on my way to the airport seemed to phase me. Instead, I quickly dashed to the taxi rank at Manchester Piccadilly where I met two girls in the same predicament. I was grateful that they allowed me to share a ride with them, and I loved hearing a bit of their life story during the twenty minutes it took to get to Terminal 2. I then went through the motions of security, gates and boarding, relying on my experience in Douglas for familiarity without ever being daunted by a very different type of plane journey. I think it was this drawing on some similar experience from the past that set me up for when I got to the other side too, landing in Atlanta and getting a taxi to a hotel without any real fuss; checking into the hotel before making my way to the State Farm Arena without a second thought.
There was a moment once I’d entered my hotel room when I looked out of the window and thought, I’ve done it. I’m actually here. A sense of disbelief mixed with a joyous thrill. I still drew on that thread of familiarity as I went to see Lauren Daigle live that night, thinking how much the space was like the O2 Arena in London, where I had been for C2C. But even when the unexpected appeared the day after, the lack of real panic or fear was evident. For my intention had been to catch the 4.35pm coach up to Nashville. But when I arrived, after a lovely, sunny morning in Piedmont Park, instead of a short stay in a crowded bus station, I spent some three hours waiting for it to arrive. But as I sat there, unperturbed, I considered that I would not have got this experience on a package holiday. In place of worry was an acceptance of the situation. I spent my time in the company of these ordinary Americans, watching, listening. One guy just wanted to get home to his wife and kids. A woman who was travelling in this way for the first time exclaimed, between cigarette breaks, that it would also be the last. And when the bus did finally turn up, the guy who sat next to me was harmlessly raging against his employers for putting him on a bus when, usually, they pay for him to travel by plane.
Such grievances reminded me of the complaints made back home about the trains. And it was the occasion, twelve months ago, when I had to take a rail replacement service from Manchester after a gig, that I drew on when we eventually arrived into Nashville. First, because like then, I walked across the city in the early hours of the morning, through silent side-streets covered in a light mist. Second, because like then, my nerves were jangling until I reached my destination. Unlike back home though, they didn’t subside once I arrived. This is because I experienced my only intense period of fear throughout the whole trip once I’d got to my hotel room, courtesy of two next-door neighbours shouting racial slurs and white supremacist ideologies which I could only describe as the worst effects of Trumpism. As a result, I got up and went down for breakfast at the earliest opportunity, checking out quickly and feeling much lighter as soon as I walked out the door. The rest of my time in Nashville would be marked by the absence of such things (thankfully). It was replaced by a sense of peace that I carried with me, first on my walk to church that morning for a service, and then on through every other activity I undertook till my final day in Music City.
I was surprised by how much Nashville became like a home-from-home. Then again, as I had done throughout my trip, I wonder how much my ability to compare it to other places that I was already familiar with fed into that feeling of home. I recognised in its skyline of high-rise construction something of Manchester; in the hustle-and-bustle of Broadway’s streets, London life; the friendliness and sense of community in its people and places, Liverpool; and the short distance out to quiet suburbs, Chester. It also reminded me a bit of Bangor: something about its manageable size; the ability to walk to most places without the need of a car. In fact, the only time that I needed to use a form of transport was on the day I bid farewell to the place. This also happened to be where anxiety at last appeared, though even then, it was by no means acute. I think it was knowing that I had to make it to the airport somehow, and my inexperience of getting a bus fed into a general sense of dread. Drawing on the familiar wasn’t possible here, and this seemed to be the effect. I needn’t have worried however. For, assured by the presence of an Information Point when I got there, the lady behind the glass screen was both helpful and reassuring. The presence of a guy with a suitcase at my stop also underlined that I was not alone here. Everything was going to be fine.
And it was. I got to the airport and went through the motions. That short spate of anxiety was replaced by a satisfactory sigh. I sat in a window seat and looked out as the plane took off and thought, I’ve done it. My dream has now become a reality. Coming into land in New York for my connecting flight, I found that I had been struck by a travelling bug. I might make this my next destination, I thought. I’ve always wanted to see a show on Broadway. I was returning home a changed person. Having done something that I never thought I’d be able to bring myself to do.
Not that anxiety is beaten. Those who experience it will know this all too well. It just leaves you “until the next opportune time” (Luke 4:13). In this case, it was a fortnight later, as I contemplated going to see Taylor Swift‘s ‘Eras Tour Concert‘ in the cinema. I had kept looking online at the seating plan throughout the week, waiting to see if anyone else had booked. When the time came, there were only four seats selected. Better than being on my own, I thought. But still awkward. I spent a good bit of time wrestling with the thoughts in my mind, particularly over how I’d be perceived. This guy, who had just taken himself on a solo trip abroad to America, was now fretting over a trip to his local cinema.
I did go in the end, joined by two women and two girls who took advantage of the otherwise empty space by dancing in front of the screen. It added to the experience, I think, and made me reflect on the impact of Taylor‘s music, including on my own life. The verse that really struck me over the course of the night was from ‘Lavender Haze‘: “I’m damned if I do give a damn what people say”. I know that it’s going to take more than this line to combat such a thing. But if my trip to Nashville has taught me anything, it’s that each point on the journey can be a small contribution toward something more significant as time goes on. Nothing is ever wasted, I was recently told, in the Kingdom of God.
My hope is that this story of mine will be one of those points to someone, and encourage them on their own journey.
Featured Image of The Parthenon, Nashville (C) Gareth Williams. All other images also (C) Gareth Williams
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