I don’t know about you but some weeks I struggle with my routine and staying consistent. There will be some oddity to the schedule, a variable introduced, and suddenly it seems as though my whole week is out of whack. I thought I would thrive in consistency.
The past few weeks have had some extras that took me away from writing. I debated on just recycling some old material but decided against it. Why? I have no idea.
Last weekend I went to Pismo Beach, CA to celebrate and officiate my cousin’s wedding. It was a gift to stand by her side and offer a ceremony to her and her husband. I think hers marks the 5th wedding I’ve officiated and so far, the one most special to me. Getting to Pismo is no small thing with layovers, travel delays, and car reservations. I wondered how I could preserve the quality of my nervous system heading into the trip and found myself delighted with the company of new friends, picturesque scenery, and some of that SoCal sunshine.
Walking the streets of a beach town, however, reinforced in me that this place is not home. The ocean hasn’t been a place that resonates with my inner being quite like the mountains and rivers do. There is just something about the alpine air that activates my sense of belonging and becoming.
While delightful to catch up with family, make some new friends, there is nothing quite like being home. One of my other cousins asked me what it is like to live in Montana. Yes, it’s cold and sometimes hot, there are bears and wild cats to be mindful of. And, even with the dangers, it is the first and only place that has truly ever felt like home. The masks can come off, the guards can rest, and that true inner-self can be awakened, seen, and nurtured. What a gift to call this place home.
As I flew home and navigated the anticipated and unexpected delays of travel, I couldn’t wait to land, get in my car, and recover. It is hard to describe the ironic feeling of the unbridled wilderness feeling like a fortress of safety.
In the occasional quiet spaces I find in my mind, I am mulling over these questions:
What does it mean to be on the journey of becoming more human?
What does it mean to necessarily narrow our scope, hone our focus, and contribute in meaningful ways?
How can the wild places of the world root us?
The journey of becoming more human, of becoming incarnate to our own bodies is a slow journey when we are consistently and continually outraged by the media. As K. J. Ramsey aptly stated, “We are discipled into disembodiment.” In my view, it is well beyond time for us to come home.
When I first moved to Montana I was in a doctoral class on spirituality and had to write a paper on how I would tend to my spiritual self in the coming years. I have always loathed these assignments because I am constantly finding new ways, new resources, new ideas for how I can best care for myself, and rarely do I ever stick to one of these plans for very long - consistency is an elusive dance and I have two left feet. What it is about novelty that generates becoming?
Back then I wrote about becoming an “anonymous mountain man in Montana.” The idea being that I no longer wanted to strive for significance or perhaps more poignantly, I no longer wanted to strive for importance. I was ready to simply be, be the best most healthy form of myself for myself and for my family, friends, and community. No growth strategies, no more entrepreneurial ideas, just the slower rhythms of being human.
I rekindled my love for fly fishing and learning the ways the water moves through the earth creating habitat and home for a whole ecosystem I’ll never get to fully see. For the imaginative type, it is a wonderland. I bought a drift boat and now take my friends with me, introducing them to fish friends, and hope they catch a glimpse of the wild that has become precious to me.
My routine looks a lot different today than it did nearly three years ago when I planted roots here. A person I may call my former self wanted to travel, explore, be noticed and sought after, and have influence. The person I am today wants to live between Kalispell and Missoula (and the waters that connect them). The former self wanted to have strict routine and ritual, the person I am today looks forward to my dedicated afternoon and weekends of fly fishing. I crave the things that keep me home, preserving the quality of my nervous system, moving away from perpetual outrage to intentional kindness.
I want to offer words of gratitude to you, my readers, for continuing along this journey of becoming and belonging with me. Thank you for showing up with me, even when my consistency meanders like a river.
This Substack flows on coffee and curiosity.
Would you be willing to