Goodbye's and Hello's

Sometimes I get so caught up in saying hello that I forget to say goodbye.

One of my talents, and also one of my weaknesses is my ability to plan. Whether it's five years from now, or five minutes from now I typically have an idea of exactly what I'll be doing. Granted, sometimes God has a chuckle and I find myself doing something entirely different than I thought I would.

Anyway, it's no surprise that I've let myself get so swept away with plans of saying "hello" to Nashville, that I've forgotten to say "goodbye" to my home for the last three years: Manhattan, Kansas.

My dad dropped me off at the dorms of Kansas State University on August 18th, 2012. Savannah and Tucker came with us. Everything I owned was loaded into my car and I was beyond excited to start a life for myself. I said goodbye to my family, and said hello to my room mate for the first time (in-person) met some people on the floor of the dorms, and started considering the dorms my new home.

Over the next several months, I said "hello" to a lot of things, like driving to see Ty in Lawrence every weekend, applying for jobs, and feeling like a speck on the wall in a town where no one knew my family, my dog's name, my siblings' names, where my family's cows were, let alone my name. I said hello to applying to jobs and to being a freshman in college.

My three years of college passed much the same. The sad thing about being in college is that it's such a transitory state. You know that this isn't your permanent home. It's just a stop along the road to a job. So while I was focused on building myself up professionally, I inadvertently built a home for myself--something I didn't realize until I arrived in Tennessee.

Somehow, this transition has been harder for me than it was to go to Europe and be over five thousand miles away from home. I'm still in my own country, and I have to pull out the GPS to figure out how to get to Walmart. I've been here over two weeks already and I still have no idea how to get to the most basic of places. I have to drive on the interstate with hoards of people, go to yoga with hoards of people, shop for groceries with hoards of people, and even live with hoards of people in a gigantic apartment complex. I can't walk outside by myself at night.

I guess what's sad is, is that I'm starting to realize that living in Nashville isn't just a stop along the road in life--it is life. It's not just a six month long exploration of a different land. And I'm realizing that I did build a community in Manhattan. I built a home. I knew exactly how to get to Walmart, I knew how infuriatingly long it would take to find a parking spot on campus, I had people in Manhattan attending my (and Ty's) graduation, cheering us on.

So I suppose my question is, how soon will it take to find something that's hard to say "goodbye" to in Nashville?

Changing my mind. Changing my life.

Let's rewind time to about ten months ago. Ty and I had just started our last year at K-State. We'd just finished study abroad. And we were coming startlingly close to having to make a decision about what to do after we graduated. Well... I was having to make a decision. By some strange stroke of fate, Ty's known that is life calling--for whatever strange reason--is to become an accountant. Me, however, well, that's a different story.

Let's rewind about ten years. Fifth grade. Career day. Everyone in the class was supposed to dress up in what they would wear to work every day when they grew up. This was a big decision. Whatever outfit I chose would surely set me up for success and secure my goals. Well, I was torn between being the first woman president, a best-selling author, an award winning motivational speaker, orrrrr being a rancher. The night before my mom helped me find a blazer and a briefcase (because of course that's what a president wears) and they were hanging on the closet door. So what do I do the next morning? I go to my dad's dirty clothes pile, find a diesel/manure/God-knows-what-else-stained shirt and put that on with a pair of holy jeans and some cowboy boots.

History sure does have a way of repeating itself.

So here I am, on the verge of graduation, thinking to myself that I'm too young to be the president, don't have enough land to be a rancher, don't have enough motivation myself to share any with anyone else, not enough time to write that bestseller, and I'm lost about what to do. All I know is that I want to help people. And, because, I'm an extremely literal and tunnel-visioned person, I think, "Aha! I should be a Nurse Practitioner!" (Sometimes I wonder if I'm part teenage boy.)

Now I have a vision, now I have a purpose in life. So I call my family and they give me this look like, "What? You? A nurse?" And I go through telling them what I want to be. And they do their best to be supportive. And somewhere, in the back of my mind, I'm thinking of that fifth grade girl (me) that signed her emails "Future prez, vote for me!" must be shaking her head at me and wondering why I'm not running for mayor or something. Regardless, I press on, determined I have found a career that I will both enjoy and be able to help others.

I apply to Johns Hopkins.
I apply to Vanderbilt.

...

I get in.

...

Here, two of the best schools in the country have accepted me! Johns Hopkins won't work because there is a better school for Ty in Tennessee. Long story short, here we are in Tennessee, I'm dressed up to go to orientation, thinking that whatever outfit I choose will surely secure my future and create my reputation at Vanderbilt University.

But, this time is so much different than that day in 5th grade when changing my mind didn't set my future. This time, instead of helping me find an outfit, people helped me prepare applications. Instead of the thought of a cushy life as president, there's a distinct reality of a comfortable life as a Nurse Practitioner in two short years. There's pressure, consequences, expectations, and so much more.

And there's an unbearable amount of anxiety and depression pressing on me every second I think of stepping foot onto Vanderbilt campus. My reasons for wanting to become a nurse practitioner seem trite. Now, I think of the two years of my life I'll say goodbye to while I force myself through a program that I'm not even 100% sure why I'm going through. Now, I think of my family, and how "emergencies" aren't allowed during this stringent program. Now, I think of agriculture, my first love, and how I'll be saying goodbye to the wide open skies and endless plains. Now, I think of writing. I wonder how I'll ever have time to work for the New York Times or write in the High Plains Journal. I wonder if starting this means saying goodbye to that bestseller. Now I think of my back. Is my back strong enough to be on my feet for twelve hours a day, rushing, carrying, twisting? Now I think of myself. Am I emotionally healthy enough for what is to come.

I don't know the answer.
I prayed and prayed, and I still didn't know the answer.
I don't know the answer.

But I know what I'm good at. I'm good at writing. I'm good at loving others, and I think I know what I want. But I'm not sure. So I would rather spend the next ten years, trying to write that bestseller, wrangling cattle (if my back can take it), working my way up through a company, trying out that dead-end job, than sealing my future off before I even knew the answer.

Maybe in a year I'll have that thought again, that maybe I should be a Nurse Practitioner. Maybe I'll realize that I'm in Tennessee for a reason. Maybe I'll realize my talents will best be used in a hospital. But until then, you'll find me here: in this small apartment, in this shady part of a gigantic city, in my closet-turned-office-space, exploring.

Stick-Figure Families--Rodosevich Style

It is truly unfortunate that those stick-figure families on the back of the mini-van aren’t more forthcoming. Sure, it’s possible to ascertain how many family members there are, their genders, and maybe even if said family includes pets. What the stick-figure families don’t tell us is so much more interesting.

For example, the rear windshield of the pride and joy of the Rodosevich family—a slick fire-truck red dodge charger—would display a man, named Tyler, a woman named Savanna(h), and a young boy also named Tyler, but more fondly referred to as “Little Ty.” Sitting beside Little Ty would be a dog called “Char” (short for “Char Char Binks” not “Charlotte”) and an exceedingly energetic cat named Leo.

On a sunny afternoon in Sharon Springs, KS I joined the Rodosevich family in their home, a restful white house sidled against an empty city street, shaded by elm trees. Inside, Savannah was putting finishing touches on her already stunning face. Her full cheeks perked up into a smile as she greeted us.

“This is little Ty,” she said.

Little Ty gave us a timid look and scooted on his wheeled toy behind the couch so he could peer out at his strange new visitors.

“Say hello,” Tyler prompted, smiling down at his son.

Little Ty mumbled something that sounded sort of like hello. Within a couple of minutes, Little Ty was holding my husband’s hand, leading him to the couch, and telling him about his favorite movie (the Croods).

“I’m glad we taught him about stranger danger,” Tyler said sarcastically, sharing a look with Savannah.

Within a couple of minutes, the small family was dressed and ready.

Little Ty was immediately fascinated with the camera and Savannah and Tyler explained to him that I would be taking pictures of them together.

“Strike a pose,” Savannah said.

This is what he came up with:

Little Ty’s first picture was symbolic of how the rest of the photo shoot would go. This young family was full of spirit, and even though Savannah had to brave the sunshine and there were some iffy moments….

 

Like this time...

Or the time Tyler went digging for gold...

Or the time Little Ty laid down on Tyler's face. (Ah, the joys of parenthood.)

...they survived the photoshoot.

All three of the family members were excited to see the pictures once we were done. Well… Savannah and Tyler were eager to see the pictures. Little Ty was excited to transform himself with a fleshy, rubbery, green monster hand and terrorize the city (house) and its inhabitants. When he tuckered out, he laid up next to his sidekick (Char), took off the monster hand, and enjoyed yet another summer night with his family.

As Little Ty laid against man's best friend and Savannah sat curled up against Tyler, my mind drifted to the stick-figure families. What is a family? Is it limited to blood relations? Marriage? Friendship? Is family the people we choose, the people who choose us, or just some trick of fate? Maybe it’s all three. Whatever it is, the Rodosevich family showed me how beautiful it can be.

Just a glance.

As I sit at Starbucks writing this, I feel like a giant stereotype. (Oh, you're a writer? Oh, you're at Starbucks? How original.) To top it off, I have my big purse, glasses on, and a yoga mat sitting in a Donjoy bag on the ground by my feet. From time to time I pause my hurried scribbles, and I look across the street, gathering my thoughts or covertly watching people as they pass in front of me on the sidewalk. Often, I pick up my--what's the coffee-lingo word for medium?--tea and take a sip noting my misspelled name and hearing the ice cubes tumble against the plastic cup.

For a moment, I wonder what people must think of me as they walk by. Maybe they don't notice me at all... But, if it were me walking by, I know what I would notice. I would see a girl, frizzy hair from the summer humidity, scrawling on a cheap notepad, drinking overpriced black tea that she probably could have made better (and cheaper) at home, with an iPhone 4 and an unlabeled purse. I might give her a small smile before I looked away, but only if she had caught me observing her. Then, I'd carry on my way and probably not ever give her a second thought...

I wonder what people would see if they actually took the time to know me.

They'd realize I wasn't a Tennessee girl the second I said "hello" without their charming southern drawl. From there, they might discover from my wide eyes and my fascination of the novel surroundings that I'm new to Nashville. If they noticed the darkness underneath my eyes, they could tell that stress has taken the place of a good night's sleep over the last week. The brace around my middle would indicate joint problems that constantly render me in-pain and irritable. Once they asked me about the weather, it would become obvious how much I deplore small talk, and my shy smile would show them my social anxiety.

If they take the conversation in the right direction, they might discover who I am.

I'm a Kansas transplant. I was raised to say please and thank you. I know the value of hard work. I would sooner step in a cow patty than let someone struggle with something without offering help. I'm just as comfortable in Wranglers and boots as I am in athletic shorts and tennis shoes. Before I even have a conversation with someone I'm thinking about all of the possible outcomes so I'll know just what to say, and I'll be thinking about the conversation afterwards wondering what I could/should have said differently. If someone would have asked me my five year plan a couple years ago, I could have answered without taking a beat. Now, I would rather stick my head in wet sand than answer. At 19 I married the love of my life. I'm a nonconformist, and if someone tells me I should do something one way, I'll probably do it just the opposite. (I get that from my dad's side of the family.) I'm a writer. A thinker. An agriculturalist. An advocate. A Catholic. A do-er. I will do what it takes to be successful and my idea of being successful is being useful.

So, as I sit along the sidewalk, scrawling in my notebook, I can't help but think...

What do we miss, when we look at someone with just a glance?

It's a metaphor.

My feet slide against the loose gravel as I move forward down the trail. Crunch. Swish. Crunch. Crunch. Swish. Crunch. The rhythm lulls me into a form of hypnosis. I’m not worried about where I’m going. The trail will take me there. My journey is safe, familiar… repetitious. A steady ache fills my legs as I trek on down the trail. Crunch. Swish. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. I stop. Look around. There are trees on both sides of me, each the fraternal twin of the other—related somehow. Shockingly similar, somehow different. Humidity rolls off of the trees and beads on my forehead, curling my hair and placing the tangy flavor of sweat around my lips. I scratch the back of my neck. Birds chirp softly, scoring the soundtrack of my worries.

                Ahead of me the trail twists into two separate directions. The proverbial fork in the road has me just as a portending storm or a relentless river beating on the boulders. What just happened? I wonder. Moments prior my footing had been as certain as the July heat, my purpose as clear as a toddler’s eyes. Now my thoughts were just as muddy as that torrid river. What should I do? Where do I go from here?

                I pass the afternoon in that position. Humid sweat dripping into my furrowed brow, mosquitos tormenting my slick skin, birds patiently sing my thinking song. The trees aren’t even immune to my internal struggle, as they shiver in anticipation from the breeze that plays across their leaves. A sigh escapes my parted lips.

                I close my eyes, and a ball of sweat slides from my eyebrows as they relax. One foot moves forward. Crunch. My back toe lifts up. Swish. The other foot moves ahead. Crunch. And so my path is sealed. The trees sway and move across the fork behind me; it was as if the other trail never existed. There will be no turning around.

                My feet slide against the loose gravel as I move forward down the trail. Crunch. Swish. Crunch. Crunch Swish. Crunch. The rhythm lulls me into a form of hypnosis. I’m not worried about where I’m going. The trail will take me there.

Cheers to two years.

Exactly one year ago today, Ty and I touched our feet back onto American soil ending what had truly been the adventure of a lifetime. We'd just spent one month in Costa Rica, and the five months before that in Europe, mostly in the Czech Republic. We weren't quite sure how those travels would affect us, we only knew that they had.

I didn't know that every time I saw a girl with bushy, curly blond hair I would think of how every time I met up with my friend Susan I would look for her hair in hopes of finding her. I didn't know that every time I had a free period, I would wish that I could ask my friend, Lasma, to get some coffee from the local vending machine and pass the hour with me. The fact that I would feel more out of place in a Walmart than I ever did in a small local market was another surprise. Or maybe the fact that I missed so much the conversation I shared with people of other nationalities, where smiles and hand gestures had to make up where lack of language rendered spoken communication ineffective. I didn't know that from time to time I would get a far-off look in my eyes, a wistful smile on my lips, and think back of all the mishaps, inside jokes, and beautiful countryside that I had enjoyed so much.

Other times, like now, I look at my life, and I know I've reached a crossroads; a path that once I go down it, there will be no turning around. A time will come to pass where I will no longer be able to go out on the town on a whim, or traipse across a continent with the guise of education. By entering certain doors, I have knowingly (and unknowingly) permanently closed other doors.

Each life change has come with expectations.

Exactly two years ago today, Ty and I touched our feet onto a grassy pasture north of Wallace, Kansas. He wore a black suit and a smile. I wore a white dress and a veil. Our friends and families sat in borrowed folding chairs as Mr. Rick Dewees joined us in the holy sacrament of marriage.

The day had been ours. On August 3rd, everyone had been preparing for what was sure to be another 100+ degree day. Our guests were dressed in light sun dresses and other summer formal wear. Instead, a light gray cloud drifted over the prairie occluding the hot summer sun. A light mist fell from the heavens cooling the air, and a light breeze blew. The ceremony was short, sweet, and heartfelt. One of my friends, Clint, took a few pictures of the wedding party while my aunts, uncles, parents, and brothers loaded up the chairs.

As we pulled out of the pasture, the only sign that people had touched the earth was the small patch of mowed grass. Before we cleared the gate, fat raindrops fell from the sky. I looked over at Ty, and I can't even remember what I felt. The day that we (okay, I) worked so hard to plan was halfway over.

Soon enough we had arrived at the Township Hall, an unassuming building in the midst of Sharon Springs. The town was quiet excluding the heavy thrumming of raindrops. We ran into the building while the mist flattened the hair Clint had worked so hard to shape into the perfect up-do. A man I knew to be our DJ approached me, and the ball got rolling.

Ty and I shared our first (clumsy) dance as man and wife.

My dad and I danced to "My Little Girl" by Tim McGraw.

And while Ty was dancing with his mother, my dad sat by me and cried. Tears rolled down his face just as thick and sure as they were falling outside. I can't remember exactly what he said, but I remember feeling... different. This man who taught me to be tough. Taught me to get back on the horse even if I was scared to death of falling again. Who could build fence, braid a rope, tend to a calf, stand up for himself, was crying.

I don't think I'll come close to understanding until--God willing--I have a child of my own that I have to give away, and maybe not even then. But, now, I think I'm closer to understanding than I was before.

Genesis 2:24 says, "...a man shall leave his father and his mother, and be joined to his wife; and they shall become one flesh."

Maybe, he was crying because he was saying goodbye.

And even though I didn't know it at the time, I was saying goodbye too. I was saying goodbye to who I had been for the last nineteen years. I was saying goodbye to the ability to be selfish. I was saying goodbye to privacy. I was saying goodbye to being courted by men. I was saying goodbye to being me.

Ty's and my wedding was just that, a wedding, and as my aunt, Cindy, says, "We believe in marriages in this family, not weddings." So even though August 3rd marks this great day where I said goodbye to myself, my old self, and said hello to the new me that was born of one flesh with my new husband, Ty, it isn't significant in the grand scheme of life. What is significant are the last two years... 730 days of Ty and me being married, learning together, growing (even if that meant growing pains), and learning each day what the sacrament of marriage is all about.

It has been different than I ever could have imagined it. Harder than the imaginings of a 19 year old girl. But, I hope in the years to come, Ty and I can learn, struggle, hope, and love even more than I ever could have imagined.

Pining for another adventure!

     Hey, it's Ty with yet another adventure that Kelsie and I were lucky enough to take to San Isabel, Colorado.

This is the sort of view we saw all the time, while hiking.

Our time there began with amazing drive up to about 8300 ft to Kelsie's Aunt and Uncle's lake house. Bob and Cindy were kind enough to let us stay there for about 5 days and they were right next to the lake.

Once I stepped out of the car my senses were taken to another place.

• The view of this amazing lake nestled in a valley with birds and trees everywhere
• The smell of cedar, pine, and fish brought me instantly to nature
• The sound of hummingbirds whizzing past and trees rustling in a light breeze
• The feeling of cool air and being in a place so close to nature and the disconnect from civilization

We participated in many activities but the one we did every day was sit on the porch of the lake house and looked down upon Lake Isabel.

This is a view of the lake we could see everyday from the Lake House

Lake Isabel had the views and activities that made the week full of activities that amounted to mostly exercise. We canoed and chased these ducks around the lake but nothing crazy so we didn't flip over.
Kelsie's cousin Lillie and I biked around the lake and we also walked around the lake. If you ever want to visit the lake then here is

The black square in the first picture stands for the general area of San Isabel and the zoomed in portion is where we stayed.

The first and second day we all went ATVing around many beautiful places. Here are a few more pictures:

This is an old abandoned cabin at Marion Mine, Kelsie and her Uncle Bob went and visited this remote place.

A great capture of the high views on another trail that we took with the ATV with Bob and Cindy on day 2.  

After coming back down to a place where there is no cell service we had no choice but to hike a few trails that later turned out to be fantastic finds. The very first hike had the plan that we would run into some magnificent natural water slides/ After a little bit of difficulty to get around some of the rocks and stream; we made it to our destination.

The water slides started out what to be a huge rock that got carved out by the running water. It now makes for a fantastic ride down where you end up falling off the edge of a steep fall...okay maybe not steep.

As Kelsie shows the perfect form (because you're frozen in the form you start in) she ends up right there in the bottom pool that is very easy to escape.

Kelsie and I were completely safe (other than hypothermia) because there were 2-3 year old children that made it there with their parents and everyone was having a great time.

After that day we decided to go hiking again the next day and on a trail called Second Mace Trail. It's called Mace because of its treacherous hills and loose dirt. The combination of altitude and steep hills created hard times for Kelsie and I but some wonderful peace and serenity.

This is Kelsie admiring her accomplishment 

This is her celebrating her time after finishing that crazy climb

Lastly, we had to go to the main tourist site that is only about 3 miles away from the lake house. Bishop's Castle was built solely by one guy by the name of Jim Bishop. He actually built it up to 160 foot tall.

Kelsie actually took this picture from 30 feet in the air. It is incredible that this was built by one person. 

He was financially supported by many and he also used his space for memorabilia. Those glass windows have anniversary, death, and birth dates on them. 

I did not want to go up any higher than about 1/2 way because of the fact I was too scared to. Some of the parts looked dangerous at that height and that stopped me from going higher.

Before I sign off, I would like to thank Bob and Cindy for their wonderful hospitality and great guiding. I will finish with me celebrating the water slide finish!

YES!!! Thanks for reading!