It’s been seven years since my first visit to central Arkansas, my husband’s hometown, where my in-laws and their families still reside. It was a magical time the first time I came. I remember the freedom that came from eating with my fingers instead of with silverware at the table, four-wheeling on my in-laws land, and going tubing on Lake Ouachita. Since then, I’ve met family that has become my own, and even brought guests all the way from Poland when we celebrated our I Do BBQ two years ago.
You’d think visiting Arkansas would lose its magic after a few trips every year for so many years, but it hasn’t. As we grow, so do our problems, and so to have a place in which to escape is such a blessing. There, we can watch movie after movie with zero judgment, lay poolside for hours without interruption, make last-minute plans or plan for minutes that last. Most importantly, though, our Arkansas home allows us time for reflection, dreaming, growing, and loving.
Slowly but surely, I have taken the reigns on my own Arkansas experience. Because we drive south in my little Toyota, Cody can work remotely while I go explore. This last trip has the greatest evidence of my independence and ‘ownership’ of my Arkansas roots, but there’s also a bit of vulnerability that I’m still investigating.
This time, we invited a family friend to accompany us, so I was no longer the tourist but the tour guide. It was so awesome to see Bailey experience so much of what I have had the chance to. It was pretty wild to consider that, at her 16 years of age, I was only a couple years older when I began my scrapbooks of pictures and memories from the Natural State.
The Main Event
My favorite moment, though, is when Cody was done with work for the day and Bailey and I had just finished eating after a long day of touring a little bit of Hot Springs. I have a stellar poet-friend, Kai Coggin, who was led into my life unexpectedly and I expect her to stay there, a fellow moral compass for us who are ever-wandering. She hosted one of many creative writing events and invited us to join. I was so excited at the prospect of finally attending. Let’s just say I knew I was going to go – I just needed a clear conscience.
I wasn’t going to leave without knowing Cody was okay with it.
Let’s be clear: My desire for verification has nothing to do with my confidence or freedom as a marriage woman. It’s not because my husband has a strong-held lock and key around me. He’s not the keeper of the car keys. Shoot, he probably didn’t even really have plans for the rest of the day (it’s Arkansas, remember? It’s awesome because there aren’t any plans). But it was really important for me to know how he was feeling.
Why Did I Even Ask?
This is one of those times where sacrifice in marriage is apparent in a very simple way: my happiness is second to that of my partner’s and I choose for it to be that way because I know he feels the same way. If I put myself in his shoes and I’m about to act in a way I wouldn’t want him to act towards/around me, then I reconsider what I’m about to do. It’s the Golden Rule: Marriage Edition. If he acts in the same manner, then doesn’t the end result mean both parties are satisfied?
I asked how he’d feel if I went to Hot Springs again after being gone all day. He’d been working while I was having fun, and I know he has more fun with me, so I didn’t want to strip him of that opportunity. Ultimately, I knew he’d be fine, and he knew we’d be fine independently, but I needed to hear it. It’s not enough to assume, remember?
It turns out he was just fine with it – and I came back a really, really, really happy human.
Eight years after my first shy visit and five years after my inaugural Hillbilly Triathlon (maybe more on that another day), I was in my element. In my husband’s hometown, I acted as tour guide, enjoyed myself immensely in the spots that have become my favorites, and found myself a community of writers I truly admire.
It’s safe to say I can’t wait to go back.
