Nashville, Style, and the Women Who Show Up
This week, The Inheritance Collective entered a whole new world: a dedicated jewelry and vintage style segment at The Nashville Show. It was the largest market we’ve ever done and only our fifth in total. To say there were nervous stomachs leading up to it would be an understatement.
We had an entire day to set up our booth. Something that used to take me an hour took nearly five. I wanted every detail to be right, creating a flow and a story so you could feel the life of a woman weaving itself together - as if you were invited into her closet among her most personal treasures.
The show opened with early bird ticket holders, and these women were ready. They weren’t just browsing; they were shopping. There was something electric about that first wave. Their energy was joyful and confident, the unmistakable mark of people doing what they love: treasure hunting. (I know a bit about that myself.)
I love Nashville women. They are equal parts glamorous and down-to-earth, fabulous and warm. They are not afraid to stand out, and the fashion was next level. They carried a presence I truly admire; I heard more than one woman say she didn’t need anyone’s permission to buy herself something. They do what they want. Period. And they were so gracious to me.
The next day was quieter and slow. It was the kind of day that tests your resilience as a small business owner. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t leave feeling a little defeated, wondering if the day before had been a fluke.
On the final day, my brother-in-law and marketing manager manned our booth. They made sales, collected emails, and created buzz for our Instagram giveaway. But Shauna and I weren’t there. We had changed our flights and were headed home.
Before we left for Nashville, my stepmom, Susie, flew down from Virginia to stay with the kids. She got sick almost immediately, but the show couldn't be canceled. Over the next couple of days, both kids ended up sick as well. She didn't sign up for that, yet she held everything together.
We had an entire day to set up our booth. Something that used to take me an hour took nearly five. I wanted every detail to be right, creating a flow and a story so you could feel the life of a woman weaving itself together - as if you were invited into her closet among her most personal treasures.
The show opened with early bird ticket holders, and these women were ready. They weren’t just browsing; they were shopping. There was something electric about that first wave. Their energy was joyful and confident, the unmistakable mark of people doing what they love: treasure hunting. (I know a bit about that myself.)
I love Nashville women. They are equal parts glamorous and down-to-earth, fabulous and warm. They are not afraid to stand out, and the fashion was next level. They carried a presence I truly admire; I heard more than one woman say she didn’t need anyone’s permission to buy herself something. They do what they want. Period. And they were so gracious to me.
The next day was quieter and slow. It was the kind of day that tests your resilience as a small business owner. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t leave feeling a little defeated, wondering if the day before had been a fluke.
On the final day, my brother-in-law and marketing manager manned our booth. They made sales, collected emails, and created buzz for our Instagram giveaway. But Shauna and I weren’t there. We had changed our flights and were headed home.
Before we left for Nashville, my stepmom, Susie, flew down from Virginia to stay with the kids. She got sick almost immediately, but the show couldn't be canceled. Over the next couple of days, both kids ended up sick as well. She didn't sign up for that, yet she held everything together.
That Friday morning she made scrambled eggs for breakfast and she even gave our dog, George, a plate of his own. Later, he snuggled her on the couch and she rubbed his ears for a long while. She told him he was such a good boy.
Later in the day she noticed he couldn’t quite settle. She called me and asked what she should do. I told her to let him rest and that if he still seemed unsettled in the morning, I’d have a friend take him to the vet.
A little while later, she let George outside for a few minutes. When she went back to get him, he was curled up in the patio sofa chair. He was gone.
Susie called to tell us, completely shaken. Then she did something I will never forget: she went back inside, climbed into bed with the kids, read them a story, and got them to sleep without them knowing what had happened. She waited up alone for our friend to take George to the emergency vet.
She was, and always has been, incredibly strong. Her dad was from Tennessee, and I don’t know…maybe there really is something about these Tennessee women.
The vet called us a few hours later. We learned George had hemangiosarcoma, a tumor on his heart that had ruptured. Something like that happens fast and there isn’t really anything you can do.
And just like that, this enormous, 100-pound, goofy and loving presence in our lives for the last six years was suddenly and devastatingly taken from us.
Life has a real shitty way of handing you perspective sometimes, doesn’t it?
Life has a real shitty way of handing you perspective sometimes, doesn’t it?
Suddenly, nothing I did at the show mattered as much as getting home and putting my arms around my children. I’m left feeling this deep sadness and knowing that the real treasures in life aren’t the shiny things you hold in your hands or wear on your body; they are the beautiful souls that bless your everyday life and it’s our time together that really matters.
I left Nashville with an application for The Inheritance Collective to be a vendor again next year. I’m grateful and thankful they want us to return. But right now, I can’t think about leaving home again. I don’t want to leave my family any time soon and I know I will always carry the sadness of not being there for George when he needed me and for my kids when they were sick.
I left Nashville with an application for The Inheritance Collective to be a vendor again next year. I’m grateful and thankful they want us to return. But right now, I can’t think about leaving home again. I don’t want to leave my family any time soon and I know I will always carry the sadness of not being there for George when he needed me and for my kids when they were sick.
As I lay here now in bed, feeling the warmth of my son’s fever next to me and listening to my daughter’s sniffles while she sleeps, I’m reflecting on the Tennessee women I met that first day. I’m sure they have known their share of sadness. Their hearts have been broken and mended and broken again. But still, they get up. They get dressed with intention, and they walk into the world with a smile, and a “hi y’all”, and words of encouragement, even for someone they’ve never met before.
Tomorrow I’ll probably need to borrow some of that strength and graciousness as I navigate a full day home without George. I’ll definitely need to borrow a smile - mine is nowhere to be found. And maybe (just maybe for now), I’ll see them again next year.