Sometimes the adventures we need the most are the ones we avoid:  Seeking silence. Standing still. Staying present. Resting fully. Letting others care for us. But…. if we can take one step along that path to the unknown within, and then another, we look up down the road and find ourselves transformed. I’m on that journey now. 

I feel that same time travel when I’m in the studio creating or deeply engaged with my writing. I’ve felt it in the forest when I’m exploring off trail, looking closely and discovering. It’s a sense of being totally present in the moment, focused on what is directly in front of you, and forgetting all other concerns completely. This flow allows me to step out of time. It’s a kind of paradox, by which I forget myself completely while also becoming fully embodied in the task at hand. Maybe that’s why we love games, among many reasons. They transport us.

The wind outside rattles and rails against the walls of my studio trying, in vain, to huff-puff them down around me. A warm light settles over the bits of inspiration I’ve curated in this space. I know I’m safe here.

I love this view. Seeing town from this perspective made me love Missoula when I first moved to the valley. I thought to myself, as long as I have this wild playground, I can be happy. It turned out to be true for me. I love the drama of the light playing along the ridges of the mountains across from me. I love the delicate colors woven throughout the expanse. I love the contrast of near and far. I’d like to sit here and just read or draw, for hours. 

Storytelling unites us. Holding presence for another is priceless. Mirroring and seeing our own reflections in another is important. We are slowly losing the ability to be present and to tell stories, so it’s important to encourage this art in our community. 

Today is the day of the Equinox - a time when light and dark are served to us in equal parts. I firmly believe our mission in life is to build capacity around holding the nuance of light and dark at once. There’s no such thing as black or white, good or bad. Life is everything all at once all the time. Laughter and sadness persist intertwined within all experience. Life and death move as one. I experience today as a reminder of this practice.

We take a seat to enjoy this great expanse, and I settle into sketching. Scout bounds around in the grasses or sits from time to time to smile at the wind. The sketch comes quick, fed from the well of my love for this place. I visit often.

The way to find a peaceful spot, I’ve found, is to put in a little effort. Hike just a little farther. Take the path less travelled. Be inconvenienced. Choose some way that’s more difficult. Now almost halfway around the lake, this strategy has served me well, as I find myself alone underneath one of those massive pines that guards over the shoreline. 

I’m treading on a soft trail that winds through a carpet of crisp green kinnikinnick leaves filled with bright red berries beneath me and traipsing behind a group of women as we make our way through a forest of larch, pine, and spruce trees.

The feeling of driving a car packed for a weekend away on a winding road through the most beautiful parts of the country cannot be measured. Today, I’m driving along two-lane Highway 200 then Highway 83 North to the Seeley Lake area to meet a group of wonderful women for a multi-day birthday celebration. I’m excited.

I’ve waited too long to begin, once again. Now, we are running out of daylight.

Today, I’ve decided to go on an evening hike, setting off from the Crazy Canyon trailhead in the Pattee Creek Recreation Area near Missoula

Yoga practice, like creating, allows me to momentarily forget distraction or worry and settle into experience. I respond intuitively to what lies before me. Product is less important than process. Outcome is just a byproduct of practice. 

For a lover of books and great literature, there is something so delicious about the silent exploration that comes from wandering through towering stacks of treasured, tangible books in a library or bookstore. As I walk to the door of this unpretentious place of learning and place my hand on the handle to enter, I notice the tiniest thrill of anticipation.  When I come to a bookstore like this without any intention, no “thing” that I’m looking for, I know I have an hour (or two, perhaps) of uninterrupted discovery in store. How delicious.

Everyone who meets here loves nature completely. Some have dedicated their lives to its study and protection. The Montana Natural History Center offers education about wildlife and fauna of our area. They provide meeting opportunities, instruction, kids programs, and so much more. They conduct research, distribute original art in the form of a magazine. They advocate for the voiceless needing protection - these species, ecosystems, and places that make life worth living.

Have you ever experienced that feeling of being a kid in wild places, building forts of found sticks and acting out imaginary storylines of heroes and villains? A small sample of that feeling finds you here in the undergrowth. Light filters in softly. Pathways meander. Here there are excellent hiding places. On our journey today, we even find a tiny stone pathway built for faeries. 

The deer in our neighborhood have taught me that you can’t control everything (or anything, really). Sometimes you must abandon plans, go with the flow, and learn to coexist. 

This brings me to today’s adventure where you find me digging once again in these spaces, planting lavender. This project has a clear objective: to outsmart the deer, or live with them.

I’ve got the place to myself. How delightful… I’m sitting on a pine bench in a wide open gallery space filled with beautiful objects, carefully curated to create an experience, and I’m feeling it. The cool air that surrounds me is currently permeated with the softest chiming twinkle of delicate glass drawings suspended in air colliding collectively against one another. I’m transfixed.

Can flexibility coexist with commitment?

I struggle to juggle the “all or nothing” discipline of committing to a long-term project and the flexibility that’s required to listen and respond to my Self, my heart, and my body. How do you know if you’re heeding what you need in the moment and adjusting accordingly or just dropping the ball on a commitment you’ve made that’s important?

Today’s type of adventure is permeated with both courage and fear for me…..a large social gathering. I grew up very isolated, and, as a result, I still feel like an alien at most gatherings of people, even though I’ve spent years challenging myself to engage in these spaces. . . .

A walk along the riverside in Missoula, Montana takes you past several crossing points. These bridges bring travelers to the other side of the Clark Fork and connect two valley shorelines split by the river between them. 

Tonight, Scout and I choose to start our adventure at the ballpark and walk down the shoreline until we eventually feel like crossing. From the start, our journey takes us past sculpture parks and osprey nests, to which we glance in recognition before moving onward. This trail feels placed at the intersection of the natural and the industrial. Tension persists here between the carefully curated straight lines of steel and the wild creatures that adapt and inhabit these spaces. Are we not wild creatures as well? I wonder.