Montana

Last year I would not have believed that I’d be sitting here now on a gorgeous Friday in September in a corner coffee shop in Missoula, Montana with a heavy heart and fingers on the keyboard, missing my Dad more than I’ve missed anyone in the longest. It catches me by surprise every time - the steady march of time and the deep current of change that carves you out without you knowing. Catches me by surprise that I am here and this is my life now. 

It’s almost a month to the day that I spent my last day at DOJ in the Office of International Affairs and my last few nights in northern Virginia/DC. I am so thankful that, in those last couple of days, I was able to see each of the close friends that made my time there worthwhile and rewarding. Maybe one day I’ll find the heart, patience, and time to reflect on my time in DC at length. Looking back, I regret that I always framed the whole experience under the umbrella of being restless and unfulfilled at my job. I look at that same job (full of both saints and saint-makers) and realize that it was integral to me sitting where I am now. The connections, the challenges, hell - even the commute. I spent close to an hour every morning and afternoon with myself, lost in thought on those ever unpredictable metro trains. The synthesis of those myriad thoughts led to the realization that another move was necessary to keep growing. Life was calling me to up the ante, so here I am. In Montana. 2400 miles from any place I’ve ever called home. I know approximately 1 1/2 people in this town if you count the guy canvassing for Jon Tester that I met yesterday and saw again in this very coffee shop today. Can you tell Missoula is smaller than it seems?

The real point in all this rambling, however, is that I miss my Dad. We have spent approximately the past four weeks together almost non-stop. I spent two weeks at home prepping mentally, emotionally, and physically for the move. Those two weeks both saved and wrecked my mind. I finally caught a breath, but it was a big inhale of the familiar, the comfortable, the kind of stuff that calls you to stay in one place & just be. The opposite of everything to which I had already committed. Columbia is full of many and much that I love with every fiber of who I am. To me, Columbia is the warmth of crawling back into bed on a winter morning. It is also the slow steam of baking in the summer sun - ripening your heart - a tomato on life’s vine. These sentiments are a little difficult to understand, not necessarily shared among my childhood friends, and downright weird to accept. All that to say, I left Columbia two weeks ago with my heart in pieces in my hands and my last-minute bags packed with hesitation. 

Dad is largely the reason I physically got in the car and emotionally back on the road forward. 

Our road trip was one for the ages. Hours upon hours in the car, mile after mile, we laughed & bickered & sang & downright yelled & had a meltdown during what we have dubbed the “St. Louis Incident” & learned even more about each other & drank good beer & survived the Sioux Falls Motel 6 & saw natural wonders & pondered life’s biggest questions & charmed our way through the Livingston cowboy crowd & reminded each other why we are best friends, cut from the same cloth, made from the same stubborn stardust. Every single moment I would relive just to experience it all over again. One of my life’s greatest adventures, the second cross-country road trip of one summer, with my oldest pal. 

We arrived in Missoula last Saturday on what can only be described as a day perfectly concocted to induce love at first sight for this place. Missoula is magic. I have to preface this description by saying that I know that winter is coming (truly!) and it will be a wild & totally different ride. But for now, let me just say that Missoula (and Montana in general) calls to a deep part of me that I was not aware existed before I came here. There is a goodness here, a salt-of-the-earth truth that permeates nearly everything. Maybe it’s the tangible culture of self-sufficiency, small community with big roots, an insatiable desire for outdoor adventure, and a fierce commitment to protecting natural spaces. Maybe it’s that small business is abundant and appreciated, maybe it’s that people are friendly enough to rival the southern hospitality of those I consider ‘my people’, maybe it’s the incredible sunshine of September with no humidity. Maybe it’s actually all inside - a newfound sense of confidence after navigating two cross-country trips, a huge move, being free and anonymous in a new city, unpacking/organizing/designing a new home in four days, finding my way to work from our house without a map. Maybe I just like the Hallie I’ve found now that I’m here.  

Don’t get me wrong - I am still nervous about many things: missing home, distance from family, making new friends, performance at my new job, the cold grey of winter, figuring out what’s next or how long this chapter is meant to last. And Missoula isn’t perfect either - there’s little to no diversity which is reflected in both food and the cultural opportunities available ( they’re trying). It is honestly one of the whitest places I’ve ever been. There is a strong bias against the American Indian population with whom I will intimately work. And I will be making significantly less than I ever made in DC or would make elsewhere for the same kind of work. Job opportunities are few so if I look ahead, I can’t quite figure out what the next career move would be. The air quality will take a deep dive in the winter & winter will be long. Traffic is worse than it should be for a city of this size. In truth, though, I am comforted by these faults because they offer perspective and a sense of grounding as I make this place home. 

There’s a whole heck of a lot the infamous “they” can’t tell you about life - how dry sobs feel like swallowing glass during painful goodbyes, how your parents are people too & that the letting down and the building up goes both ways when you’re an adult, how they could be come your best friends. They don’t tell you about the anxiety that comes with committing wholeheartedly to the unknown or how heavy your feet will feel when you take the first step of the long journey of growing up. They can’t describe the dizzying freedom of undoing all your familiar tethers and trying to find your true north. They all struggle to capture the beauty of this country succinctly, but it’s meant to be found the long way around anyway. Same thing goes for the people along our path. 

In sum, I’m scared sh*tless, feeling a little brave and a lot of bravado, happy and growing in the sunshine, still shedding the parts I couldn’t carry on this journey and unearthing a whole lot that has been buried for too long. This is a rich earth we’re planted on & I am thankful to each and every person who has watered, warmed, and pruned me throughout these many seasons. You are the reasons I feel strong and happy enough to leave this coffee shop, tuck the loneliness back, and find this afternoon’s adventure.