The Places that Save Us

NOTO saved my life. Okay, that may be an exaggeration, but it’s not too far from the truth. The North Topeka Arts District became the place I frequently visited after my divorce.

Going from seeing your kids every day and sharing life with a spouse to suddenly being alone half the time is disorienting in ways you don’t expect. The house feels too quiet. The routines fall apart. After the new normal sinks in, you think you’ll enjoy the free time, but instead, you feel unmoored. When the kids aren’t around, you’re unsure of who you are. Being a husband and a father were a big part of my identity. Although the father part didn’t change, how much time I spent with my kids did. Everything shifted. I went from full-time to half-time. I remember sitting in that liminal space, staring at the walls both literally and figuratively, and thinking: Now what?

That “now what” is what led me to NOTO.

I had been there before but only on First Fridays and only every once in a while.

Something about the place pulled me back. Maybe it was the raw creativity in the murals that adorn so many of the walls. Maybe it was the musicians filling the night air with sounds at Redbud Park. Perhaps it was just the presence of people, real people, full of energy when I felt so empty inside. Whatever it was, I kept returning.

Over time, NOTO transformed from a mere spot on the map into my community. I had found a place where I belonged. Poetry readings at ArtsConnect, drinks and community at Studio 62, nights in small apartments that served as studios, and small studios that served as apartments.

I was even interviewed by Telemundo Miami at NOTO!

I found myself spending time with local artists. Some of them were professionals who had dedicated years to their craft, while others were just wonderers searching for their original voice. Regardless, they all shared a certain spirit: an openness and a willingness to explore. We spent long nights together, flowing from one conversation to the next.

Sometimes our discussions were deeply intellectual. We wrestled with ideas about philosophy, creativity, identity and more. Other times, we delved into silliness, like when I tried a Meta Quest for the first time at an artist’s studio. I stumbled around like a drunk person while everyone laughed. Others took turns wearing this new and magical device, stumbling and laughing uncontrollably. There was no judgement, just the joy of being in the moment.

Those nights felt like a breath of fresh air. They reminded me that I contained multitudes, that I was more than a divorced dad trying to figure out what came next. I was still curious, still alive, and still capable of belonging somewhere.

Looking back, I realized I needed to feel seen. Divorce can make your world feel smaller. Suddenly, people don’t want to look you in the eye. Or their spouses made them take a side. Friends you thought would always be there start to make excuses until they silently disappear. You begin to think you don’t matter anymore, at least not like you once did.

But NOTO changed that. Those new friends I had made didn’t focus on my label as “divorced.” They cared about who I was in that moment. They accepted me as I was, not how I used to be. That level of community heals in ways that therapy alone cannot.

Our engagement at NOTO! It was cold!

And then there was Jackie.

NOTO wasn’t just the place I healed; it was where love found me again. One night, surrounded by the familiar creative chaos, I asked Jackie to be my girlfriend. It felt right. The walls of that district had witnessed my loneliness and seemed ready to witness something new.

Fast forward, and NOTO became the backdrop again when I asked her to marry me. In the same streets where I had once wandered without purpose, I stood firm and hopeful, inviting someone to walk forward with me into the next chapter.

Those moments matter because they connect the whole story of my time there. NOTO wasn’t just a destination for me, it was where I started to piece my life back together and build something even better.

What I’ve learned is that healing doesn’t come from escaping pain. It comes from facing it, recognizing it, and allowing yourself to feel joy again. NOTO provided me with the space to do that.

I didn’t have to act like everything was fine there. Some nights, I arrived feeling deep sadness. Other nights, I was full of laughter. Both sides of me were welcome.

That’s the beauty of community, real community. It doesn’t force you to leave your baggage behind. It ensures that you don’t have to carry it by yourself.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t wandered into NOTO that first time. Would I have sunk deeper into isolation? Would I have lost hope that life could be beautiful again? Maybe. I don’t know.

What I do know is this: NOTO helped me heal and rediscover myself.

It reminded me that I’m not just a dad, even though that role is important. I’m also a human being who needs connection and kindred spirits. It showed me that being broken is not an end, but the chance for a new beginning. It showed me how to create a space in my life for love and community to filter in.

Now, when I walk those streets, I don’t just see murals and shops. I see the path that brought me from loss to love, from despair to renewal. I see the faces of the artists who shared their nights and their wisdom. I see Jackie, first as a girlfriend and now as my wife.

NOTO may not have saved my life in a literal sense. But in the ways that matter, the ways that help you move forward, that restore hope, that remind you why you wake up in the morning; it did.

For that, I’ll always be grateful.

Thanks for reading.