that one time i went to kansas.

For Luke - Happy Birthday.

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I used to travel a lot more in my younger years. Even my fear of flying couldn’t prevent me from buying a ticket, boarding a plane and finding myself outside the geographical boundaries that usually outlined my life.

As I’ve gotten older, and as finances and schedules became tighter, travel has been put on the back burner. I am sometimes sad that Luke and I didn’t see more of the world together before we had kids. But I know that as our littles become less “little” we have many travel adventures ahead – and it gets me excited. Many of my daydreams involve seeing my kids at Disneyland or Luke in Ireland or all of us in India.

But I know that wherever I go or wherever I’ve been, there will always be a special trip that will always reside in my heart. It’s among the most magical, beautiful, meaningful trips I've ever taken. It was the time I went to Manhattan, Kansas.

No, not New York. Kansas.

In 2006, four months into our marriage, Luke found out he was being deployed to Iraq. My world was rocked. I went from being a blissful newlywed to a wife of a deployed solider (to forever be known as WOADS). I was nervous and scared and knew I would Miss. Him. So. Much. I couldn’t believe I was doing the first year of married life without him – and even worse – I couldn’t believe he’d be out there, alone, in what seemed to me at the time such a dangerous, threatening place.

Before heading to Iraq, Luke spent four months training in Fort Riley, Kansas. Toward the end of his time there, an opportunity arose for me to visit him. It would involve buying an overpriced plane ticket, enduring a long layover, arriving in Kansas City, Missouri, renting a car and driving two hours at night to Manhattan and only getting to spend less than 24 hours with Luke before he had to report back for training.

Of course I went.

So I boarded the plane, nerves in tow. I sat through my layover, restless as could be. I got my rental car, not believing I had two more hours ahead of me. I made the drive from Kansas City to Manhattan, reading my "Mapquest” directions through the dim rental car dome light, having to make u-turns, stop for directions and know no one would be able to come find me if I got lost. I checked into the LaQuinta hotel and waited for him to arrive. 

I cried like a baby when he walked through the door and realized he was worth all of it and more.

The next day we only had until 5 p.m. before he’d have to head back. We hit up the local Chili’s for lunch, ventured to the Walmart, and walked around town. There wasn’t much to do, but we didn’t need to do much. I was nowhere I knew and no place exciting, yet it was one somehow one of the most special, endearing days of my life. 

He left that evening and I slept in a puddle of tears in my little La Quinta bed, woke up with a brave face, drove the two hours back to the airport, then boarded the plane to make my way back to a home that didn’t feel like home without him. But somehow, when I think of this trip, I don’t remember those parts.

I remember how, for a little while, a LaQuinta hotel felt like the Four Seasons. A Chili’s restaurant felt like a café in Florence. A Walmart felt like a London boutique. A walk around a sleepy town felt like a waltz along the Seine. And seeing my husband after all we had been through and all we had to go through was better than the view from the Eiffel Tower.

It felt like the best place I’d ever been.

After weathering that storm and two kids later, he still has that effect on me. Whether we’re on a plane to Mexico, on a road trip to Vancouver, in a hotel in Seattle, at the beach in Edmonds or on the couch watching Veggie Tales with the kids.

Wherever we go or don’t go in the future – I will have no regrets. Because my journey gets to be forever with him, and that’s all that matters.