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In 33 years, I’ve lived in four states, nine towns, and twenty-five—count ‘em, 25—homes.

With all this wandering it’s no wonder my Grandma Jeanne called my brother and I her gypsies. Oh, how we wreaked havoc on the “M” page of so many address books. One scratched out entry after another. From Hogpath Road to Grand Avenue to Peachtree Street, I’ve lived in farmhouses, walk-up apartments, cottages and industrial lofts.

I’ve been in a little 1930s brick and stone bungalow on Utah Avenue for more than three years now. Almost a record! In fact, I’ve only lived in one of those other 24 homes for longer. Six years is my personal best. So this is progress. This is me making myself at home.

And I love it. Indeed, I love Nashville. I’ve been here for more than ten years now—minus a 4-month jaunt to Atlanta—and despite my occasional frustration with Tennessee politics and a certain air of Confederate nostalgia, I can’t imagine leaving. I’d consider New York City if The Daily Show or SNL wooed my husband (as they rightly should) or L.A. if Conan O’Brien came begging. Until then, this is home. And I’m thankful that this is so for many, many reasons. Here are a few – along with a few photos I snapped during my lunch break today.

- 70 degrees and sunny. Every day this week. I predict brilliantly happy people abound.

- I truly enjoy the eight-minute commute to my downtown office each morning.

- From hole-in-the-wall honky tonkin’ to blockbuster stadium shows, I get to on a regular basis see and hear more live music than I ever dreamt possible.

- The food (and drink). I devote way more of my meager income to good restaurants than a responsible adult should. But oh me, oh my – there’s some good eatin’ to be done in Nashville. I’ll share specifics in many posts to come.

- The friends and family who make Nashville home. After all, isn’t that what I learned as we blew from house to house, town to town in all these years past? It makes no matter what my bedroom looks like or how big my backyard is, so long as there are good friends at my kitchen table, neighbors gathered on the front porch and supportive family just a few miles (or a phone call) away.

- On that note – I’m less than six hours from my original home. While that often feels much too far away, I know on that a good day I can get there on one tank of gas. I can always make it just in time to celebrate a graduation, wish a happy birthday, cry at a wedding or hold a beautiful new baby.