Case in point.
Lawrence, Kansas.
Oh, Lawrence. We go way, way back.
Some people may not know this, but as a sophomore in high school I was pretty decent at track. The University of Kansas had expressed interest because I had a contact in the program. That means I could have very well been on the track team at KU had I stayed with it, stayed decent at it, and really wanted to. Instead, I got to be about 17 and thought boys were more important, and that I was just over it. I don't regret that, but sometimes I wonder.
This track deal provided me my first impression of Lawrence. Mom and Dad signed up sis and I to participate in the Sunflower State games. I remember staying at my Great Uncle and Aunt's place in Topeka the night before and we drove over early the next morning. We went. We threw some stuff at Memorial Stadium. We picked up our medals, and we left. It was July so we probably didn't have time to mess around. There was hay to bale, or wheat ground to work.
Fast forward a summer and I was on my way back to Lawrence. This time I was a delegate from Republic County participating in Sunflower Girls State. This time I was actually going to be on the KU campus and I could get a feel for it and to see if I was interested at all in KU.
My week at Girls State was the best worst week of my life.
I say that because this was the first time I'd ever been away from home more than 48 hours. It was the first time I was on my own. (Granted, I had my friends Stephanie and Liz, but we were separated and it was horrid). I was thrust into a "city" with girls I had absolutely nothing in common with. I was a farmer's daughter. I was not the daughter of an orthopedic surgeon, or an optometrist (she had 10 pairs of glasses that she could match with her clothes), and my Dad wasn't running for a prominent office in the Kansas state government. I was a fish out of water. I remember writing a letter every day to my friend Josh back in Republic. Every. Single. Day. In fact, at home his step-mom put them in order for him by postmark date so when he returned from Boys State in Manhattan he could read them.
"Man, you really hated it," he said to me after we had finally reconnected after our week away from home.
"Yes. Yes I did," I nodded. "I've never felt like more of an outsider in my life (I was 16)."
That feeling. That experience. It was defining. "I'm never going to KU. Not doing it. I hate it." This also translates into my weird feelings toward Lawrence. "It's just weird there. Never happening."
Fast forward three years and I'm now a wildcat living in Manhattan. Lawrence is the anti-Christ. Why would you venture to chickenhawk land when you have a perfectly good Aggieville right in front of you. I remember a group of sorority sisters going to some coyote bar to see a band. I did not go with said group. "I'm never going to Lawrence. Are you kidding me?"
Another few years flies by and I now have a career, and I contemplated a move to Eastern Kansas. Where would be a good fit? Where is the most central location? Where do we already have staff with the company I was with?
Lawrence.
"I'm not digging the Lawrence idea. I don't think I want to live there."
If you've noticed, I've changed my tune from never to, "I don't think I want..." because by now I've learned that never is a horrid word. If I said, "I don't think I want..." then it was like saying never, but I actually wasn't saying it, so it couldn't bite me in the ass.
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| It's official. I now claim living in Lawrence. |
How'd that work out for me?
I took a new job in a small town north of Lawrence. "It's not Lawrence. It'll be fine," I said to myself. "You won't have to live in Lawrence."
Then I came to the harsh realization as I was searching for housing options, and there were none. "I have to live in Lawrence."
I'll be honest. It's not that bad. I've been out and about a couple of times. There are more options than I know what to do with. I signed up for a photography class. I found a park to walk in. I have options when shopping for groceries. I'm thirty minutes from sis. I'm closer to home. I have friends here. My commute is a short 22 minutes.
I said never. It bit me, but maybe it didn't break the skin. Maybe. Just, maybe, I found a great place to call home.
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