I've Lived in Austin Most of My Life. These Are the Things I Hope We Never Lose.

When I was a little girl, my father was involved in the planning and infrastructure around the 183 and Loop 1 interchange. I remember looking at all of it and asking him some version of, “Why would anyone ever come this far out? Why would we possibly need something this big?”

That makes me laugh now. Today, that part of Austin hardly feels “far out” at all. Keep heading north and you reach the Domain area, where we're essentially watching another urban center emerge. If you've moved to Austin in the last decade or two, it's probably difficult to imagine just how different this city once looked.

We didn't really have a skyline. Austin had long restricted building heights in an effort to preserve the visual prominence of the Texas Capitol, and when you looked across the city, the landmarks that stood out were the Capitol dome, the UT Tower and, from certain vantage points, St. Edward's University. Downtown wasn't somewhere most Austinites dreamed about living. It was largely where people went to work—lawyers, bankers, lobbyists and people connected to state government.

Places we now consider firmly part of the Austin metropolitan area also felt far away. When I was in junior high and high school, Pflugerville and even parts of North Austin felt like you were heading toward cow country. I remember Town Lake before we called it Lady Bird Lake, and we all knew you didn't swim in it. Barton Springs and Zilker, on the other hand, were already part of the rhythm of Austin life.

Here's the part that might surprise you: I don't want that Austin back.

Austin Has Changed, and Much of It Is for the Better

By the time I was finishing high school, I couldn't wait to leave. I wanted a bigger city, a skyline, more culture and more restaurants that weren't primarily Tex-Mex and Southern food. I wanted to experience somewhere that felt more cosmopolitan. The younger version of me would probably be amazed—and proud—to see Austin today.

Our food scene is extraordinary. We've kept the barbecue and Tex-Mex that are part of our DNA while adding chefs, cuisines and influences from around the world. Austin restaurants now earn Michelin stars. Our music scene, always one of our greatest assets, has become broader and more diverse. Our ballet, symphony, theater and other cultural offerings have grown considerably, although I still think Austin has room to become an even stronger arts city.

People have arrived here from across the country and around the world, bringing different experiences, cultures, businesses and ideas with them, and I believe Austin is more interesting because of it. So when longtime Austinites talk about protecting what makes Austin special, I don't think that has to mean resisting change. Cities change. They should. The question is whether we can continue to grow without becoming generic.

Some Things Are Worth Carrying Forward

There are still places around Austin that instantly connect me to the city I grew up in. Habanero Cafe on Oltorf was Dos Hermanos when I was young. The family transitioned the restaurant to another generation, the name changed, and yet many of the recipes and the spirit of the place remained. Enchiladas y Mas on Anderson Lane has its own generational story, with younger family members eventually taking over and continuing what came before them.

Then there's the Broken Spoke. When James and Annetta White opened it on South Lamar in 1964, it was actually about a mile south of Austin's city limits. Today, that little Texas dance hall sits surrounded by development that would have been almost unimaginable then, and somehow you can still walk inside and know exactly where you are.

The Texas Chili Parlor is still tucked near the Capitol. Barton Springs is still Barton Springs. Zilker has changed and grown along with the city, but it remains one of those places where Austin feels unmistakably like itself.

Those places matter to me, not because I think everything should stay old, but because they give a growing city roots.

There are also places we've lost. One I particularly miss is Dot's Place. Dot Hewitt served the kind of Southern food that could make you plan an entire lunch around it—meatloaf, macaroni and cheese and the sort of down-home cooking people happily stood in line for. What strikes me now isn't only the food, though. It's who was standing in that line. Businesspeople, tech workers, craftsmen, secretaries and people from completely different walks of life all waited together because everybody knew Dot's was worth it.

That's part of the Austin I remember. Austin has always had a funny relationship with status. You could walk into a room and think you knew who the wealthiest person there was, and there was a very good chance you were completely wrong. The person in flip-flops might have just come off the lake—or they might own half the block. Nobody particularly cared. I hope we never do.

What “Keep Austin Weird” Means to Me Now

Austin was definitely funky. A little hippie. More open-minded than many other parts of Texas and proud of being different. Houston was the oil-and-gas city. Dallas had its own decidedly more polished personality. Austin was the laid-back lake town.

“Keep Austin Weird” eventually became the phrase everyone associated with protecting that identity, but I think what I want us to keep goes deeper than weirdness. I hope Austin stays unpretentious.

I hope we keep supporting the little restaurant whose building isn't particularly impressive but whose food has been coming out of the same kitchen for generations. I hope live music continues to spill out of places that aren't perfectly curated. I hope people still walk the trails, jump into Barton Springs, get on the lake and show up somewhere afterward in shorts and flip-flops. I hope breakfast tacos remain a perfectly reasonable answer to almost any morning question.

And I hope we remember some of the tiny courtesies that used to be second nature. If you're driving slowly, move over and let someone pass. If someone lets you into traffic, give them the little wave. It sounds insignificant, but I don't think it is. Those small interactions say something about whether we see the thousands of people around us as obstacles or as neighbors sharing a city.

If You're New to Austin, You're Part of What Comes Next

I've helped people relocate to Austin for many years, and I genuinely enjoy introducing people to this city. People come for the economy, jobs, natural beauty, food, weather—at least until August introduces itself—and the lifestyle. But many also come because Austin simply feels different.

My hope is that people who choose Austin don't feel the need to turn it into wherever they came from. Bring the good things with you. Bring your food, ideas, traditions, businesses, experiences and perspective, and add them to ours. That's how cities become richer. But also get to know the place you've chosen.

Eat somewhere that's been here longer than you have. Learn why people care so much about Barton Springs. Go hear music somewhere small. Find your favorite breakfast taco. Spend time on the trails and around the water. Support the local businesses that give our neighborhoods their personality. Become part of Austin rather than simply living in Austin. That's how we keep adding to the tapestry without covering up what was already there.

Twenty Years From Now

I have no idea what Austin's skyline will look like twenty years from now. If the last few decades have taught me anything, I'm probably incapable of imagining it. The little girl who couldn't understand why anyone would need such a big highway interchange that far north certainly didn't see today's Austin coming, and that's okay.

I hope we keep building and people keep bringing new ideas here. I hope our restaurants get even better, our arts community gets stronger and Austin continues becoming a city that attracts interesting people from all over the world. I don't need Austin to look the way it did when I was growing up.

But twenty years from now, I hope it still feels friendly and green.

I hope we fiercely protect the springs, water, trees, trails and green spaces that make living here different from living almost anywhere else. I hope we remain a city that comes together when someone needs us. I hope success never becomes something we feel compelled to advertise. I hope there are still little restaurants tucked between shiny new buildings, serving recipes that someone's grandparents remember. And I hope that no matter how sophisticated Austin becomes, there's always a place here for a little weird.

Progress doesn't require us to erase where we came from. The best version of Austin, I believe, is the one that keeps moving forward while remembering to bring the best parts of itself along.

Brandy Finnessey works with clients across Austin, helping them make clear, confident real estate decisions.