It’s now been a couple weeks since I returned from my road trip to eastern Tennessee.

The main attraction was the National Storytelling Festival that’s been held in historic Jonesborough since 1973.

My trip was bookended by a first stop at the Kentucky Derby Museum in Louisville and final hours spent in Nashville along 1st and 2nd near Broadway.

The Derby Museum pays homage to glorious beasts who often beat the odds to cross the finish line first and lead a victory lap wearing a ring of roses.

The strip in Nashville features the talents of singers and songwriters who work very hard to establish a name for themselves amid over-served or ignoring bar patrons – and other great, young singers performing at the next bar.

In all three stages of my journey, I was reminded how much people everywhere gladly surrender to a narrative that begins… Once upon a time and ends… And they lived happily ever after.   

Over two days at the festival, I lost myself in 14 hours of stories.

I heard personal tributes to parents and mentors, truthful accounts of discovery and redemption, tall tales and cowboy stories where good humor lies behind any great boast, vivid and touching war stories, and fairy tales.

I listened to an internationally known teller from Egypt (Chirine el Ansary) spin yarns about princes and princesses who lived long ago in far-away lands.  I found myself especially quiet during Kim Weitcamp’s classical version of Snow White and fell in love with Bill Harley’s humorous and musical mash-up of a Cinderella-like story featuring difficult and annoying step-brothers and a singing bird.

The town of Jonesborough itself couldn’t be more picture book.  Near rolling hills and forests, there’s no shortage of natural beauty.  So full of history and southern charm, even the toilet stalls in the visitor center have ribbon and dry flower decorated wreaths on the doors.

In some ways, I was surprised by the strong presence of fairy tale motifs but, upon reflection, decided this should not be surprising.

People like to root for the underdog, for fairness, for magical transformation, for finding love in surprising places (or in surprising ways) — for rewards to come to the long-suffering or unnoticed.

In other words, most of us relate to characters who have experienced not having something they really, really want, something that they imagine would make their lives totally different.

For a person of modest means, that could be a home and creature comforts.  For someone who outwardly seems to have it all, it could mean feeling understood and appreciated.

I spent the last night of my trip in Nashville marveling at how this fairy tale theme remained with me.  So many young singers and songwriters come here to practice their craft; to find audiences, mentors and confidence…hopefully, one day, to emerge from obscurity.

They’re willing to work hard for little money so that one day they can make a living doing something they love. Maybe, they hope that, one day, they’ll find themselves in a public space and overhear a stranger singing one of their songs.

As I walked along the strip, which was packed with bars and souvenir shops, I smiled at super-sized wooden statues of horses and cowboy boots on display to lure in credit card-ready tourists.

These statues were both whimsical and otherworldly.  They seemed to understand what dreams are made of.

I decided to have a beer at George Jones’ Bar, a long narrow joint for country music and barbecue.  A female singer — I think her name was Grace – was featured for a couple late afternoon sets.

I don’t remember her voice as being a powerhouse, but she sang along with her guitar-strumming clearly and with good pitch.  She invited requests and owned each song’s lyrics.

I had so much admiration for her, for doing her thing, especially when not very many people were paying attention.  For holding on to the thought, why not me?

When I left, I put a five-spot in the small pail at the foot of her stool, smiled at her and said thank you.

Encouraging someone’s dream is no small thing.