Ties

Ties

I’ve written about letting my state of comfort, or discomfort, dictate the length of stay in a certain spot.  Being uncomfortable, for me, has indicted lingering emotional debris that can clog the rivers of my life. 

I now intentionally seek the uncomfortables and sit in them until they have been processed to a manageable level.    Far too long did I mask over emotions with comedy or intellect.  I now challenge myself to sit in the mess till I’m no longer a mess.

Bear Lake was a trial run for this challenge.  Upon arriving in the area, I was emotionally triggered by the giant mountain homes, as they represented a special, past season.  This indicated I had unresolved fragments and needed to build a debris net.

Ulitmately, I did not have a choice but to stay in Bear Lake.  My rig had more issues, stranding me at the RV park for a week after it closed for the season.  The universe made sure I was sitting in the kennel until I learned how to open it and walk out.

The door latch was on the inside all along. 

With a small flip of the metal bracket, I leaned into the seams of the doors of my spirit.  Like two barn doors being opened from the inside, dawn’s first lights streaked through the aged wooden slats, causing dozens of dusty yellow sprays through the shadows.  As my push increased, the doors widened, slowly at first.  The streaks widened as well, growing towards each other all at once.  With a final heave on the doors, arms outspread like an osprey, I was fully embraced by sun’s warming arms.  My rig was fixed and, after countless endearing encounters, Bear Lake is now a special chapter in my book.

Montana is quickly presenting a similar environment to my beginning at Bear Lake.  I’m in the Bitterroot Valley with towering mountains east and west for as long as I can see.  In three short days I’ve driven my full rig up a mountain road in a snowstorm, and downhill in the same.  I know intimately the term “slippery slope”.  I nearly fell down a mountainside, and I’ve made some uncanny connections, but today I’m restless as a bee in an arboretum. 

The mountains and location are causing an emotional tickle, so I am looking forward to building the debris nets.  I’ll have plenty of opportunity to clean them out multiple times, as I’ve committed to five months here.

Many times, throughout my life, I’ve romanced myself as a loner.  I have written stories in which I’m a lone photographer, passing through African landscapes undetected.  Many of my dreams paint scenes of solitude. 

Perhaps I’ve ‘aloned’ myself by not fully accepting my acceptance.

Those that know me might disagree.  None of my friendships, past or present, have been fake.  I have loved all deeply and openly.  However, though I have been genuinely connected to others, it pales in comparison to the level of intent I live now.  My own insecurities were barbed-wire fences, hindering my appreciation for my scenery at the time.  I’m learning to incorporate those fences into my landscapes.

By attacking my issues without fear, I’ve engaged life with a presence of present appreciation I’ve not felt before.  I watched a homeless guy light up and wave a peace sign at me.  Strangers in stores are connecting with intention, and shop owners are shaking my hand.  I’m learning names. 

My romance with solitude is puzzling and contradictory.  How can I feel alone when surrounded by close friends?  Why do I crave being alone, but continually remain connected?

I do know this…  The pictures I live in every day would not be as vivid without you being here with me.