Recapturing My Wild in Montana

At 35, I returned to Chicago a changed woman. I just didn’t know it yet.

It was November. My plane had just landed from Nepal. I had spent the last six months traveling the world. I went to Africa, Asia, Oceania and Europe. I walked into the Moroccan desert alone. I had rented an apartment in Paris and made friends in New Zealand. I trekked through Himalayan villages and experienced profound sound healing in Indonesia. I spent a day lost in China, eating street Cantonese food under gray skies. I listened to classical music while walking through Prague and held a baby kangaroo in the Australian Outback.

I was different.

I was slowly revealing this wild woman inside of me. I felt her stirring in Bali and came face to face with her in the desert.

I returned to Chicago unaware of this new found confidence. She happened so gradually. I suddenly found myself questioning my worth and realizing I was worth plenty more. That I deserved to be paid more, to be challenged, to live somewhere new.

I was ready to start over again.

However, the notion truly became self actualized when I visited Seattle on a whim. It had been ten months since my international return, and after a busy summer, I wanted an easy trip.

I arrived in the beautiful Northwest and felt it as soon as I stepped off the plane. It was night, but I knew. I knew before I saw the mountains. I knew when I woke up to the sound of a seagulls, and somewhere in the distance, seals.

The first day I wandered out of my friend’s apartment, the magic multiplied. Between the majestic evergreen trees and the smell of the sea, I knew. I was home.

I moved two weeks later.

I accepted a corporate dining job at a major tech company. It was the change I was looking for- I assumed it would be more challenging (it was actually easier), and I was going to be paid no matter how slow it was or if it snowed outside.

Or if there was a pandemic.

For sixteen months, I was allowed to manage a cafe from home. The cafe wasn’t operating- but you know how these tech jobs go.

Many times on the road, I wanted rest. And my dog. My own bed and towels. Without the worry of money.

And here I was.

For a year an a half, I chilled. Meditated. Learned to drive again. Read almost a hundred books. Started therapy. I spent my days weaving between mossy roads and cooking vegan meals for myself.

Something inside of me, that was once wound so tight, started to relax. Slowly. I began to realize that the place I operated from- of fear and survival- started to shift. I no longer made all of my decisions from that place. I now existed in a way that understood my needs would always be met- with abundance even.

Then it was time to start my job again. Suddenly all of those frustrations that I felt a year and a half ago were back- but this time met with someone who wasn’t so afraid. I felt angry that I was put in a tedious world were there wasn’t any growth- when I had spent a year and a half challenging my own mental limitations. Suddenly, the spirit of discovery sparked inside of me again. I knew I had to take advantage of the short lived ‘hybrid’ return to work plan.

I woke up on a Wednesday morning and heard “Montana”. I had always wanted to visit West Glacier National park, but I was scared to go alone.

Jasper felt my stirring and saw my bags and encouraged me with excited whines. He tuned in to what I was feeling and said “Mom! Let’s do this!”

So we did. I drove for five hours and ended up in Kellogg, Idaho. My Airbnb was cheap with mountain views and an elderly lady who took in stray cats. I was greeted by a dragonfly.

It was there that I realized my overnight stay would just be a quick power nap. I found out that to drive through the park, I needed a special entry ticket (that sells out months in advance)- but only between the hours of 6 am- 5 pm.

So I would get there at 5 am.

There was also a time difference- which means I’d lose another hour of sleep. But there was no way I was going to drive through the night just to be turned away. I had to do this.

So at 11pm, I quietly left through the open screen door. I softly chuckled to myself how different life was out here.

My excitement of meeting this challenge overrode my feelings of logic telling me that I should try to sleep. The whole time in her house, I was checking work emails and chatting with colleagues. I didn’t get any rest. Balancing two lives is very exhausting, but I have a Libra moon. Nothing I wasn’t already used to.

So I sang to my favorite songs. For many hours, there was no cell service and it was pitch black. The waning crescent moon hung in the sky, blood red and mystic orange from the wildfires. It gave me so much comfort. The last time I saw the moon that large in front of me was in Turkey.

There were many hours on the road that I could have been terrified. Apple Maps sent me through heavily forested back roads. Occasionally I would pass a poorly lit gas stations, with vintage cars just sitting in idle, hanging out. I passed a weird “house bar”, at 3 am I could hear music from the jukebox, the screen door wide open.

I was feeling vulnerable.

What they don’t tell you is that Montana is no stranger to tourism. I passed a very nice travel center in St. Regis at about 3 am. I went in to use the bathroom and was impressed with the variety of watermelon and fresh berries available.

Most people plan for long road trips. In my true spirit, I just woke up and went with it. I grabbed some peach rings and watermelon and returned to my cozy rental. We drove on.

I arrived at the park at 3:33 am- signs that the mystics were watching me. It was pitch black, and I knew the road was carved on the side of a mountain. I passed a sign upon entering that said “bear county” and for the first time, fear flooded my body. Fear felt like pins and needles and a keen sense of alertness that I could not cultivate from my own imagination.

I parked on the side of the mountain, with no cell service. Suddenly I felt like I was in a horror movie. In the backseat, Jasper whined. It’s always his innate duty to protect me- and he wasn’t happy with this.

I remembered reading that Logan Pass was heavily trafficked and it was impossible to find parking there. I look at the road ahead of me- in the complete darkness, only my car headlights would show me the winding road up the mountain. “Fuck it”, I thought. “I’ll just go slowly.”

An hour later, we made it to the parking lot. I went slowly. The few cars behind me were pissed, but didn’t dare pass me on this wicked road. The sky was just barely beginning to show the blue hues of twilight. So I passed out.

I woke up around 8 am to car doors slamming and the heavy weight of collective frustration. People were circling for hours for a spot, and here I was napping. That was the first thing I felt- that I had to claim my space so no one would bother me. I no longer felt the need to make myself small or be apologetic- they should have got there first. They could have put in the work like I did. I owed no one anything.

The second thing I felt was the incredible morning light dancing over the mountains. Hues of amber and rose gold and a shade of pure blue I’ve never seen before. Majestic mountains carved out into the sky and translucent wild flowers. This wild moment. I captured it.

Suddenly, Esmeralda in Morocco was with me. The same woman who faced her fears and took a local bus and walked into the desert alone was next to me. She was nodding her head as though she could hear my thoughts- a year ago, I was terrified of driving. I was always the dutiful passenger, the DJ, the snack goddess. I was never the one behind the wheel.

And in that moment, I felt like I could do anything. Maybe I would quit my job and start my own business. Maybe I’d build a house in the wild and live alone with my thoughts and memories. I realized I had the autonomy to make this life anything I wanted.

I went back to the car to grab my sleepy Jasper- who was equal parts grumpy and intrigued. We sat on the edge of the wall, looking out into the distance.

“Would you like me to take your picture?”

Always yes.