A Northbound Departure

Summer 2012.  What can I say, but that it was a summer to be remembered.  It was three months that felt like a year, and in that time I can honestly say that I became not only a travel addict, but finally began to feel the sense of self-reliance I realize I was missing.

I left Bozeman the first week of June all nervous and anxious and reluctant.  That makes complete sense for the onset of adventure, I know, but honestly I was scared to be alone again. The final month of my pre-Bozeman travels through western Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming were not exactly during prime tourist season, therefore my experiences included mostly me, myself, and I.  I was afraid to feel that loneliness again, caused by not having anyone to share in my experience.  So, needless to say, when I arrived in Whitefish, MT during a rainstorm, after I five hour drive, I was not the happiest of campers...

Once you leave the city of Bozeman and drive in any direction, there is literally nothing for miles and miles.  You may pass ranches, and rolling fields, and a blip of a town here and there, but for the most part it is aptly fits the Big Sky country description. It is such a contrast from the population distribution of the northeast.  Although one accustomed to human domination could describe the Montana wilds as "empty", it is comforting to see forests and mountains expanding for miles before you, untouched by industry or development.

At one point, I believe I saw a pack of wild horses.  They were gathered in the road, and as I approached them they took off running alongside the road, and then bolted into the woods, galloping through the trees.  They were inspiring free and spirited, and it was wicked cool.

In addition to feeling somewhat apprehensive about leaving a completely comfortable and familiar place, I noticed that my car was leaking something.  Fantastic.  I recently had one of the CV shafts on my car replaced, and after stopping at a random mechanic, was informed that the axle seal was cracked and leaking gear fluid.  Fabulous.  So not only was it raining and cold when I arrived in Whitefish, but I was super paranoid about loosing gear fluid and destroying my car.  Not to mention leaking it all over the place.  Luckily, I managed to find an auto shop that could fix it, but it would be a couple days until the part they needed could be shipped from Idaho.  Cars are so fun.

I'll be honest, I was having quite the pity party for myself.  I moseyed around the town, and was feeling pretty crappy, so I decided to find a cafe since I was in obvious need of warmth and food.  After a delicious plate of eggs and toast, I did feel better. This was also due in part to the eye candy gathering of guys who sat right next to me. Woot.

Yay... rain....

Pardon?

Salvation!

I keep hoping that I am learning to deal with change in a mature and graceful way... cough cough.  Right.  I wish.  I'm finally starting to face that fact that I go through at least a week long adjustment period when I go undergo lifestyle or location changes.  It happened the first week I was at collage, every time I moved home, the first week I studied abroad, when I first left for this trip, when I first got to Bozeman...  Its an inevitable, recurring pattern during which I am usually somewhat depressed, moody, and doubtful about my decisions.  So of course I called my Dad who, as always, gave me the kick in the pants I needed to pull out of it.  Thanks Padre.

I decided to go camp in Glacier National Park, regardless of the rain, and just sleep in my car.  The forecast was calling for sunshine the next day, so I was hopeful about getting in at least one day of sigh seeing.  As I left the town, the rain subsided and the fog started to lift, along with my spirits.  At the campground, I pulled into a site across from a small yellow tent accompanied with only a bicycle and its rider.  He waved, I waved.  I began re-organizing my car to that I could just sleep in the back instead of having to set up, and then take down, a wet tent.  That's never pleasant.  The rider came over, we did the small talk thing for a few minutes, and then I realized, "Aha! You could go hiking with me and I wouldn't be alone!" (PS, there are over 300 grizzly bears living in Glacier National Park, so the whole might-see-a-bear thing was kinda on the front of my mind).

Dylan is from San Francisco, has a degree in English, had been working for a book fair company, and was now riding his bike across the country.  There is a mapped route across the country that begins in Anacortes, WA and ends in NYC.  The trip had lead him through Glacier where he was hoping to wait out the rain. We decided to get together the next day and hike to Avalanche Lake.  I went to bed feeling excited that I had already made a new friend.

The next morning, sun shafts split through the trees and the air was crisp and clear.  After my usual breakfast of oatmeal with cinnamon and craisens, Dylan and I prepared to take off.  I was going to drive up to the trail head and he was going to ride. Part way up the road I thought, why the heck am I not riding too? So I pulled out my bike and joined Dylan up the rising Going-to-the-Sun Road.

Glacier National Park is in fact one of the most spectacular places anyone can experience.  The sharp mountains undulate along the horizon and around every corner is a new expanse of rising peaks.  The first view I was greeted with was the clearing clouds that revealed the mountains beyond.

The hike to Avalanche Lake was only about 4 miles round trip, so we decided to keep riding up the road.  There was construction work being done to the road, so it was closed to cars after about 6 miles.  It was open to pedestrians and bikes, which meant we had the road to ourselves! We traversed the switchbacks and ascended another 11 miles up the road before we hit the road work and couldn't go any farther.

 
It was an amazing ride. However, I got pretty chilled on the 17 miles of downhill that followed.  Unfortunately, the campground didn't have any showers, and I had to wash my hair under the ice cold water in the bathroom sink.  It was decided that both Dylan and I had earned a warm meal, so we went to the small diner at the park's town center and enjoyed a pot-roast dinner.

It was hard to part ways the following morning, having bonded so abruptly and solidly.  But we both needed to move on and were heading opposite ways, so goodbyes were said and promises made to visit him in San Francisco.  I headed west filled with renewed spirits and high hopes. 

Life in the Bozone Part 3: Got Snow, We'll Ski

The first word that pops to my mouth that describes skiing in Montana in FANTOMULOUS! (which, for those of you who are not familiar with my frequent conglomerating of words, is fantastic/phenomenal/fabulous). 

My birthday present from John and Mo was a season pass to the local mountain Bridger Bowl (thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!).  Compared to Big Sky or any resorts in Colorado, it's probably a baby mountain, but it has character, wide swaths of unrestricted mountain terrain, beautiful views, and its only a 25 minute drive from Bozeman. 

View from the base lift



At the top of North Bowl

For the first time since I went to college, I actually spent every weekend skiing. It was magical, and really really hard!  This was my first experience with west coast powder skiing, and I kind of guessed that my 8 year-old east coast shaped skis weren't really going to do the trick, but I also didn't have the money to even think of buying new skis, so I was determined to make mine work.  In a strange turn of events, this past winter ended being the worst winter for snow that any Bozemanite had seen in decades.  But really, their "bad" year for snow is basically equivalent to a beautiful east coast day! 

My skis are designed for speed on well-groomed cold snow.  They may be old, but they can still go! Once we finally accumulated some powder, my practiced techniques stopped working.  I had to figure out how to maneuver in powder, but on non-powder friendly skis, which really just made things harder for me in the long run, but I still enjoyed every minute of that thigh-burning plunge!



My skinny, heavy skis being swamped by the powder...



What everyone else was skiing on... The skis were at least 4 inches wider and way lighter.


The first few weekends were rough, and I mean the actual skiing was rough due to all the rocks sticking out of the snow.  At that point, I was glad to have old skis.  I don't know what's been happening to winter, but it seems to be coming later and later.  It wasn't really until February that you could ski without wondering if rock sharks were lurking just below the surface.  One of our neighbors kept telling me, "Man! Usually you can't even see these trees they're so covered in snow!"  Even so, we plunged on down the slopes, determined to enjoy winter! 

The Rooster gettin' ready to hit the big slopes! Usually this resulted in me yelling at him to turn more... which doesn't bring back any familiar memories involving my mother...

Mo and Katie looking as happy as ever

It was through skiing that I became better friends with our neighbors the Pints; Jeff and Chele, and their kids Dakota and Tobin.  The license plate on their car reads 4 PINTS, so we always knew when they had beaten us to the mountain on Saturday morning.  Both Jeff and Chele are incredible skiers.  I felt cool just hanging out with them.  Jeff used to work in the pro-cycling industry, loves to go fishing, and is a continually devout fan of the Grateful Dead.  You can talk to him about it for hours, and anytime he's driving, you know what soundtrack you will be listening to.  Chele maintains a mellow disposition and a sarcastic character, but then you ski or bike with her and you realize she is all around kick-ass.  And when she laughs or smiles, she has the brightest face in the room. 

It was a unspoken rule that weekends meant skiing, and we would almost always end up meeting up with the Pints in some way or another.  It if was sunny out, we would ski all day and then kick back outside on the deck with a refreshing beer.

That's what I really loved about skiing at Bridger Bowl, the community.  It became a strengthening element for me when I felt so far away from my own family and friends. We could always count on running into friends and skiing together.  It was like having a pack, and it meant more to me than I knew at the time.  Plus, my skiing actually improved as did my confidence on the mountain. 

The mountain is named for the concave sections in the side of the ridge that make up part of the Bridger Mountains.  The lower part of the area is made of trails, but unlike typical east coast skiing, you can pretty much ski anywhere you want.  The upper part of the mountain is mostly rock and is open to traversing.  You can also hike up to the top of the ridge and come down the chutes, though I'm not that good or confident yet, and you are required to carry an avalanche beacon, and for good reason.  No one messes around with avalanche danger, because it is very real.  About a month after I arrived in Bozeman, the parent of a girl at Reugen's school was killed in an avalanche while back-country skiing.  Miraculously, his dog survived and showed up in a near-by town five days later.

View of the South Bowl

Descending the North Bowl

In general, I sense that risk and death belong to a different attitude in this area.  Perhaps it is because when you are faced with the immense power and extremes of nature everyday, you become more aware of nature's unforgiving cycle of life and death.  You have to respect the elements around you and take precautions seriously, because when it comes down to human versus nature, nature always wins.

But like many risks, there are reasons why people take them.  In this instance, being so close to the awe inspiring might of nature is both terrifying and exhilarating, humbling and empowering.  There is a freedom and an escape unlike anything else.  It releases me from my thoughts for just a moment, and I live what is happening in that instant.  I feel my heart pounding and my legs burning, and hear the whisper of the snow and the wind.  It's totally wicked awesome.

Since moving to Bozeman from Boston, this was really the first time Katie and Roo had the chance to ski regularly, and they both picked it up quickly, despite complaining constantly about their lessons or arguing with me with I tried to teach them something.  Most of their crashes were caused by their own impromptu karate matches.  Or sometimes Katie would just forget to stop as she was careening towards me.

Katie and I would sometimes head up on our own when the day was good.  We had some good bonding time on the lift discussing high school, politics, religion, or the weird looking dude going off that jump.  One of our lift rides included a sing-along of the Music Man and Oklahoma with a guy who loved musical theater and broke out into song when I told him I'd majored in opera. 



Best apple ever!




Katie about to hit me...

One weekend, I decided to put myself on new ground like Katie and Roo, so I signed up for a Telemark lesson.  Besides kind of wanting to feel cool, I really wanted to try it.  Hot damn! It is hard!  Besides being essentially opposite technique-wise to downhill skiing, it's like doing crunches all the way down the hill with the amount of core strength it requires!  Although insanely frustrating, I really liked it, and my teacher Rick did say I was making the best turns he'd seen for a beginner, so I didn't feel too discouraged.  One moment, let me just wipe that snow off my shoulder.. ehem.

One morning, John and I were on the first ride up and were talking with two dudes about the lack of snow when one of them surmised that, "We have like... two sevenths the snow we had last year!"

..... Brief pause while we all contemplate his use of fractions. 

Me: "Two sevenths? Really?  Is that an exact calculation or just your best estimate?" 

This was followed by a hilarious discourse on the usefulness and randomness of two sevenths.  He argued, "It would be like working 2 days of the whole week! That's nothing!"  From there we also realized that a full day of skiing in perfect conditions would be about seven hours, and it would be a useful way of measuring what type of day you had on the slopes!  And thus was born the phrase "Hope you have a 7/7 day!"

Every person I ever talked to on the lifts was nice.  And everyone would start up a conversation instead of pursuing that nice, awkward I-don't-know-you silence for the whole lift ride.  It was weird.  People were just too darn friendly! 

As mentioned, we finally did get some snow eventually and I was finally able to experience the magic and wonder of powder skiing.  And with family and friends around, they were the best days of the winter.

Shoveling snow off the PK lift hut

Life in the Bozone Part 2: Change and Aikido

I find it interesting how each person deals with change differently.  I always thought I had no problem with change; that I was as fluid and smooth as oil on a hot skillet.  Well, as it turns out, I flow more like cold molassas on a skillet covered with burnt scrambled eggs.

It took me a long time to adjust to my new environment.  I regret not trying to become more involved in the greater Bozeman community sooner, but when you are as accustomed to having a closely knit web of friends and neighbors around you as I am, trying to break into a different and already established web of people is very intimidating and hard. 

Whatever your perceptions of Montana are, Bozeman has a lot going on.  The city is primarily comprised of small businesses giving it a small-town feel for a city of around 40,000 people.  The arts are extremely well supported and there are many live music jam sessions and art galleries all over the city. There is a Bozeman Symphony, the Intermountain Opera company, as well as a 300 member high school choral program and many summer theater camps.   Plus, as my uncle will remind you over and over again, “You can’t get this view in Boston!” 

Despite all this, it took me until about February to actually go out and start doing things other than skiing each weekend.  In retrospect, it was really quite pathetic.  Many of the music events happened in the local bars, but I really don’t like going to bars by myself.  It’s just not fun when you are alone at the bar, or worse, at a booth.  Sometimes you make friends, but in the event that you don’t find anyone to talk to, it just sucks.  I kept trying to suck it up and go, but I’ll admit, it never happened.

I did meet at least one friend that I hung out with while I was there.  Hallie and I met while I was working the temp job at "Business That Will Not Be Named".  She is a graphic designer/excellent Rodan & Fields consultant and her husband works in the snowboard department at Big Sky.  Thanks to her, I met some other awesome Bozeman locals and was able to get out on the town every once and while. It became our modes operende to meet at the bar PLONK, order the cheese platter, which is a fancy six-piece cheese spread that magically lasts about 2 hours, and a fancy shmantzy cocktail.  They honestly have the best mixed drinks!  They are amazing.  My budget, however, only allowed me one drink per visit, which was ok, since it probably added to their specialness.

One day I was walking by the incredible Bozeman public library when I saw a light blue warehouse at the rear of the parking lot.  Hanging on the side was a huge banner that read “Big Sky Aikido”.  I couldn’t believe it! To add to Bozeman’s awesomeness, they had a martial arts studio!  To explain: I have always been interested in at least trying out some form of martial arts.  When I was studying abroad in Vienna, Austria, I signed up to take Aikido at the Sports Universität. I was intrigued not only by the practice of Aikido, but the philosophy behind it.  Unfortunately, I ended up having to quit after the first week due to a time conflict with another class.  The one Aikido class I did attend, though extremely confusing because it was all in Austrian German, was very interesting, and I enjoyed the movements and the mindset of the practice.  So I decided that this banner was telling me, “Claire! The time for action is now!”

I signed up for an eight week beginner course that met two times a week.  I wasn’t sure how many other people would be signing up for an Aikido class in the middle of winter, but I decided not to worry about that.  Worst case scenario, I’d have a private lesson.

Before my first class, I met the head instructor, Olsen Sensei, and was immediately impressed by his presence. He is a sixth degree black belt and has spent over 40 years studying Judo and Aikido.  It’s hard to explain exactly how I felt just standing next to him. When he looked at me, his eyes were strong and steady, and they told of a soul deeply connected with self understanding, knowledge, and wisdom.  When I saw him seeing me, it was as though I became very aware of all my insecurities and personal weaknesses when met with his steadiness.  And yet, in that moment of almost overwhelming deprecation, there was warmth and an understanding in him, which was both calming and humbling. 

I will never forget a moment I had later on with him.  The bi-annual examinations were happening in the dojo and I was excited to see the members show off their skills.  I, however, messed up the time I thought it was starting, and by the time I got there, everything was finished.  I had missed it all.  I was so angry at myself and so disappointed.  Olsen Sensei made eye contact with me and came over to me from across the floor.  He asked me what was wrong.  I think he knew I wanted him to ask me because I was wallowing in self-pity.  I told him why I was upset, and without indulging me with any sympathy, he simply answered, “Well, since there’s nothing you can do about it, it would be a waste of time to be angry.”  And then he smiled, knowingly.  I felt embarrassed and childish, because I knew he was right, and I knew he had just indirectly told me to stop feeling sorry for myself.  It wasn’t a put-down or a chastisement, it was a lesson, simply put, and I got the memo.  After the exams, everyone went out for pizza a beer.  I let go of my useless angst, and had some fun with the people I admired.

Olsen Sensei

The first beginners class, there were actually three other people with me.  They were all dudes.  One was a pale computer science nerd from Alaska, one was a sunburned contractor who had actually lived in New Hampshire for a while, and one was a kindly Asian man who had done the class before and drove a sweet Moped.  We were joined by a couple others the following class. One was a women (yes!), Ellen, a biochemist who worked at MSU and with whom I became friends, and the other was a MSU student who was actually rather condescending to me when we were partners.  It was OK though, he’s a college freshman boy; they don’t know anything. 

And then there was our instructor, Justin.  Dang.  Even if I hadn’t liked the class I would have stayed just to look at him.  He was super energetic, all about the athletic and intense, was always positive and optimistic, with a bellowing laugh and a mischievous grin.  His energy was so invigorating to be around.  On top of all that, he is an Aikido badass.  We were soon introduced to his notorious warm-ups, which were always more like boot-camp drills and usually included a good round of ‘Burpies’, which, if you are unfamiliar with this term, consist of dropping to the ground, doing a full push-up, then returning to standing position by jumping in the air and clapping you hands above your head.  Sounds simple, I know.  Just try one right now.  Go ahead.  Clear a little space a do one.

Good.

Now do 30 in a row. 

(I’ll wait)

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Yeah.  Pain.

It was all in good humor and everyone got through it, eventually.

Justin being epic as usual

The practice of Aikido is relatively new in comparison with other martial arts. Its founder, Morhei Ueshiba (1883-1969), developed the technique as the result of searching for a synergy of physical action and mind based on the previous martial arts he had studied.  I will now quote from the ASU training handbook because I can’t really describe it well myself:

Ai - Harmony, unity; to be in accord with or to join.

Ki - Spirit; life force or universal creative energy.

Do - The way or path.

The movement of Aikido is the dynamic movement of the universal energy forces. The power of Aikido is the power of a strong and unified spirit, mind and body moving in harmony with everything around it. Its origin is Budo. Its development is the result of two thousand years of a cultural process of change and refinement, a continuing martial contest of natural selection. It is an evolution etched in blood.

The study of Budo and the development of Aikido was the life work of Morihei Ueshiba, a figure of great renown who traveled the length and breadth of Japan studying under the greatest masters of many arts. Hard work, severe discipline and all the money he could earn were poured into his mastery of the sword, the spear and the arts of self defense. Deeply interested in the study of spiritual thought, he also practiced many different spiritual disciplines.

Still, he was as yet unable to unite his spiritual beliefs with his physical accomplishments.

A short time after returning from military action in the Russo-Japanese War, he retired to a small house located on a mountain outside his village. There he lived and studied silently; his days spent training his body and his nights spent deep in prayer. It was at the end of this time of severe training that he had the realization he had been seeking all of his life. At that moment, nature's process became clear and he knew that the source of Budo is the spirit of protection of all things.

"Budo is not felling the opponent by force; nor is it a tool to ead the world into destruction by arms. True Budo is to accept the spirit of the universe, keep the peace of the world, and correctly produce, protect and cultivate all beings in nature."

So, if you actually read all that, you can see that it’s wicked awesome.  It was very challenging and even after 16 classes, I still have to go through each movement slowly in order to do it accurately.  I enjoyed it immensely.  It is rooted in compassion and collaboration.  During training, both the giver and the receiver of the action are learning equally.  The Bozeman dojo is a very supportive environment, and its members are involved and dedicated to the art and to one another.  I have the utmost respect for all its members and their passion for the art. 

I do need to credit these photos to the website, I never ended up bringing my camera with me.

Life in the Bozone Part 1: Tax Return 101

Thanks to Greg, I was able to land a job working for a local CPA, Mary Clark.  The timing was perfect as the job would conclude with the end of tax season in April, after which I could resume my traveling.  The job involved answering the phone, making appointments, organizing client information, and helping out with miscellaneous tasks.  Now, at that point in time, I knew just enough about the US tax system to get my 1040 done each spring and pray I wrote everything on the correct lines, so I was a bit nervous to step into this position.  I wasn’t going to be doing any of the tax work myself, but I was going to have to learn about it in order to enter data and help clients.  I was excited as well because I am a nerd, and learning anything new appeals to me. I know that economics makes the world go round and I figured this opportunity to learn more about the system would alone be worth the time.  

So, as it turns out, I reeeeeally like running an office, although it kind of brought out the extremely anal-retentive tendencies I apparently posses.  Plus, it satisfied my secret affinity for office supplies.  Every time I enter a Staples store I have to intensely resist the temptation to buy one of everything.  THE ORGANIZATIONAL POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS!!!!  I don’t know if you remember me talking about having a full conversation with a friend in Burlington, VT about what type of pen to buy, but this time I had all the pens, paper, staplers, post-its, hole punchers, and random knick-knacks than I could dream of!!!  It was beautiful, and I very easily settled in to having my own desk.

What scared me, was the phone…

For whatever reason, be it a previous bad experience or just phone phobia, I have the hardest time gathering the courage to call strangers for any reason whatsoever.  Not even just strangers.  I don’t even like having to call the dentist office to make an appointment.  Something about it makes me so anxious that my mouth experiences some sort of paralysis leaving me completely incapable of speaking like a normal human being.  So this time, not only was I calling complete strangers because I was getting paid to and therefore had to, I had to do it with a boss listening in the other room.  I made sure to thoroughly grill her beforehand about what I should and shouldn’t’ say on the phone, but the first two months I worked there, the phone freaked me out.  I was so afraid of not knowing the answer to a question or messing up a message.  I definitely left some interesting voicemails.  When I am not sure what to say, I involuntarily slide into random accents...  So I'm pretty sure some of Mary's clients thought that a Russian/British/metrosexual gangster worked for her.  

After a few weeks, I finally confessed this horribly pathetic issue with Mary, who was very surprised.  Apparently I didn’t sound as much like an idiot as I thought, and she reassured me that I never had to answer anything I wasn’t sure about. She was probably just being nice because she felt bad for the college degree equipped mess in front of her, but she encouraged me to ask her as many questions as I wanted and to double check anything I felt necessary.  She was so relaxed and seemingly sure about my capability to not mess things up, that I began to believe her, and I started making progress.  I began speaking with more authority, knew how to respond to demanding requests, and even solidified my answering phrase, “Good morning, Mary Clark’s office, this is Claire!”  I also got to know the clients better and became more familiar with their situations.  I started joking with them on the phone and asking them about how their lives were going, if their dog was still sick, if their child got into that college, or how their vacation to the Western Fast Draw Association championships went.  As the weeks went on,  I slowly but surely began to master my position and my phobia, and it felt really good. 

I have gained an intense appreciation for anyone who has the brain to keep track of all the information the IRS sends out each year.  Mary is amazingly good at her job.  She see’s each tax return like a puzzle, and it excites her to figure it out.  Although I can’t say I share the same enthusiasm, I am extremely glad she loves her work, because I sure as hell couldn’t do it.  What I did really enjoy doing was bookkeeping.  I learned how to work with Quickbooks and was able to keep basic financial records for some of her clients.  It brought out the perfectionist in me, maybe to a bit of an unhealthy extreme.  It would drive me crazy if an account didn’t reconcile because it was off by $0.15, and I would scour the account for the mistake until I found it.  I wish I could have seen myself.  I probably looked like a mutant Igor scowling while craning my face towards the screen and grumbling at the numbers under my breath. 

Mary is a wonderful boss.  She and I spent many an afternoon discussing life while she procrastinated or waited for her next appointment.  I was her listener as she verbally worked out tax problems I usually didn’t understand or had a funny story to tell about her grandson.  Thanks to her patience, I learned a lot.  Maybe more than I wanted to know… because it made me aware of just how much there is to be aware of and to understand in order to be a financially savvy taxpayer.  I don’t think I could be a CPA, but I now know that understanding at least the surface of the American tax system is invaluable and a crucial element to anyone's future.

To close, I will share two of my fondest office memories:

1.  One morning, I walked by Mary’s office on my way to the kitchen and saw her opening her windows as was part of the typical morning routine.  On my way back I heard, “No! No, no, no, no!!” I leapt to her door, and there was Mary, leaning towards the window, her sweater jacket being devoured by the paper shredder!  I just stood there with my mouth open, not sure what to do or say.  She finally managed to stop the machine and reverse out the fabric, but the damage was done. It looked like something had decided to take a huge chomp out of her sweater.  After a stunned moment of silence, we both just started laughing.  It was so unbelievably ridiculous and unlikely a scenario that she wasn’t even angry.  She joked that she should tell her clients that she just got really hungry.  She had a free hour before her next appointment, so she went off to change at home, but ended up returning with a new version of the same sweater she happened to find at the mall.  No one would have ever known.  She did make a cover for that paper shredder though, just in case.

2.  Before the start of what was probably going to be a particularly stressful and arduous phone meeting, Mary was feeling a bit nervous and stressed.  We had gone over what she wanted to say and how she wanted to say it, but I could tell she was still anxious.  So, wanting to provide her with a little confidence and humor, I went to my desk and quickly crafted sword out of a file folder and presented it to her along long with some go get-um’ words and a pirate ARR!!  After the meeting she came out very pleased with how everything went, still holding the sword!  She smiled saying that as she laid out her demands she brandished the sword about with each sentence, not allowing herself to falter! I couldn't have been more proud!  Never underestimate the confidence boosting power of imagination.  


Thanks Mary.

The War on Paper and Possibility

My first few days in Bozeman were a mix of awesome and shocking.  When one has been traveling for a while and is accustomed to picking up and moving every few days, staying in one place for more than a week is similar to spinning on a tire swing or fair ride for a while and then getting off and trying to stand upright while your eyeballs keep moving in the direction your were going.  Life was full of things I had forgotten about such as having a bed or having enough room in my car for more than one person.  And to be honest, showering daily.  Regardless of the lifestyle shift-shock from nomad to foundation squatter, it felt good to be in a house with family.

The McCahans West, as we have come to say, are awesome.  My two cousins, Katie 15, and Reugen, 10, walked me into the house and showed me my room and bathroom (yes, own bathroom, sweet I know) both of which were labeled with my name.  I knew this was going to be an interesting experience, not only because my cousins are a crazy combination of pro-wrestler, LL Bean hippie, comedian, Boston gangster, mad inventor, chef, and Barbara Streisand, but because in the last few years I really hadn't seen them much.  I'd always been  involved in something or at school and wasn't able to spend much time getting to know them.  My uncle John (my Dad's brother) and my aunt Mozelle had decided to make the move to Bozeman just earlier that spring of 2011, my uncle having taken a job offer at the hospital.  They were more than welcoming and made room for me in their already fairly hectic lives. 

My room!!



Katie singing in her Christmas socks




Reugen the Lego mastermind

I hadn't actually been able to find a job prior to arriving in Bozeman, though I had been looking.  John and Mozelle, or Mo, had been checking the classified adds and calling me with any news while I had been scouring the internet.  I applied to the local ski mountain, Bridger Bowl, but no positions were available.  I began listing anything in the paper that I thought I could do and taking note of any help wanted signs I passed by on the street: coffee stands, hotel desks, restaurants, even the UPS store.  I'll just say it, JOB SEARCHING SUCKS.  No way around it.  Up until that point, job searching had been easy. I've had the same seasonal jobs for six years, and have been working for people I already knew.  So this whole stranger in a strange land throwing our resumes thing was totally new, and absolutely terrifying.

My horoscope while I was job searching... uncanny isn't it.

I registered with the three job placement agencies in town just to see if anything turned up.  I totally messed up the first agency interview when I brain farted when they asked me about my skills and didn't remember what "clerical work" meant. I think I'd always heard it referred to as "desk job" or "secretarial work".  Yeah.. whoops.  But after that stress mess, I had a great interview with Express Employment.  Greg, the owner, and I hit it off right from the start.  This dude really knows how to do his job.  His phone skills are so suave, he could sell condoms to the Pope, and within the next week he called me about a temporary position working for a graphics company in town.  He knew it wasn't what I was looking for, but it would get some income coming my way. 

I went to the company, which I shall not name because I'm not sure who is actually reading this, and was ushered to the upstairs work room.  I noticed immediately that no one introduced themselves, and no one asked me my name.  I was given a number, shown how to punch in, and directed to a table where hundreds of envelopes sat waiting to be sealed by hand.  I spent eight hours that day gluing shut large envelope while serenaded by the sound of machinery running and illuminated by florescent light.  I think I got about a BAJILLION paper-cuts and the palms of my hands were red and sore.  I was working with a couple other "temps" as we were called, but we didn't talk.  We just glued and pressed, glued and pressed, all day.

This was a strange experience for many reasons.  I had never before been basically ignored at a job.  I had never been told what to do like I was six years-old, and I had never not talked to anyone (who's surprised?).  The next day I was determined to shake it up a bit.  I was moved from gluing the envelopes, to gathering envelopes that had been addressed into bundles and securing them with two rubber bands.  After three hours of banding, the outsides of my fingers burned.  I had figured out at least five different ways to put on the rubber bands so that I could rotate skin areas on my fingers.  This day was better though.  I started trying to make conversation with the guy next to me.  His name was Richard.  He had driven there from Oklahoma to visit his cousin and had decided to earn some cash in the meantime.  He had a southern drawl, wore the same yellow sweatshirt everyday, and had a goofy grin when I made him laugh.  I made it my goal to make him crack a smile whenever possible. The job was so monotonous... I guess I felt it gave me permission to act weirder then normal, just to mix things up.  I'm pretty sure everyone in that workroom thought I was crazy by the end of the week.  At one point I started dancing in the middle of the room because I was happy it was snowing. I'd like to think I was entertaining at least.  

The other temp was an older man who I dubbed "Enthusiastic Man", or EM, (I never really could hear his name when he said it, and then I couldn't remember it, and then I started giving everyone in the work room quasi super hero names because I was bored).  EM was always in a hurry, and was always looking to do something with the most obvious intent of haste.  It was so much haste, I was worried about him.  No one should sweat that much when gluing envelopes.

Our floor manager was an Asian women named Cindy, or "Lady Chang" (sorry if that's offensive, it just came to my head at the time).  She was always very serious and mono-emotional and had special gloves for handling paper.  I swear she must have been a retired spy.  Although I was doing the same things as the other temps, she somehow managed to find something wrong with whatever I did.  At one point however, it was she that entered the wrong addresses into the label printer so that we had to cover the address area with blank labels.  Regardless of the fact that it had been her mistake, it was up to the temps to fix it.  And we had  to do it just right.  She came over three times to comment on my work; my labels were too high up, I needed to make sure they were straight, I should put them on a different way, just... because!  I glanced at Richard and he looked at me with an affirming "Yep, she's picking on you" look.  I'm not sure what I was doing to induce her wrath, but instead of getting frustrated, I decided to make another goal; make it so she can't help but like me! Hahah!

Meanwhile, the other members of the work room included "Camo Guy" who wore clashing patterns of camouflage every day and spent his time ranting about the machines or the government, "Bob the Builder", an older man who wore a back support belt everyday and managed to hold at least 12 things in it, "Gangsta Man", who always wore his hood up and had a different mustache style and length everyday, and "The Men in Black", two guys working across the room on poster graphics who wore black T-shirts everyday and no underwear... Unfortunately they bent down a lot.  Our motley crew was bossed by "Daniel Craig".  I'm not kidding, my boss looked like a slightly thinner James Bond.  And he was the task master.  I think he was even more intimidating just because he looked like Daniel Craig. He always carried his clipboard and each time he came upstairs he had to comment on something.  Sometimes he would just linger until he had something to say.  At one point, the machine I was working with decided to snag, right when he was there of course, and he jumped right in!  Pushing buttons, talking about how we needed to make sure we could keep it going, how it should be working, blah blah blah.  I knew how to fix it.  I just let him try to make him feel better.  I pushed a couple buttons, rearranged the envelopes, and voila!  He just looked at me and stammered a bit, "Ahh, yes, good... Well ok then. Good."  Daniel Craig exits stage left. 

As the week went on, I became more comfortable and felt free to be a little goofy. I made each task a weird challenge or game.  I tried different strategies for gluing the envelopes so I could do the greatest number possible at once, I tried wrapping pallets of envelope bundles in under a certain amount of time, or I stacked sealed envelopes in different patterns.  Sounds exciting right?  I was actually amazed at how well I dealt with the slow pace of time and the monotony of what I was doing.  I started listening to NPR on my iPod, which helped, but I think I also tunnel visioned during the day so that I saw each task as the most important thing for that moment.

I noticed that I seemed to be generally more bouncy than the people I was working with, but honestly, if I worked there everyday, all day, for the whole year, I would be a zombie.  If I had to always be a temp, whose identity didn't really matter as long as I worked well, I would begin to loose myself.  I began see how one's sense of importance could become attached to a part of a process, and how it could eat at your enthusiasm.  It was a completely different perspective on what role a job could have in life.  Some people do not love their job.  Their job is just a means to an end, and nothing else.  It enriches their life not through its endeavors, but through its profit.  For me, that would be a hard way to live, but people do it.  I don't think that lifestyle is wrong or that it means those people's lives are not as meaningful just because they do not live for their work, but it is opposite of the expectations I have for my life.  In some way, I must feel that my goal to pursue a career that I will love and value is a "better" choice, or else I wouldn't be trying so hard to do it.  However, I do not think that I as a person am "better than". 

I remember struggling with these thoughts when I went back home for winter break during my junior year of college.  I ran into people I went to high school with who are still living in my hometown or who didn't go to college.  I caught myself feeling a bit superior in a way, like what they were choosing to do with their lives was small minded, and that because they weren't challenging themselves or seeing the world that somehow they were maybe a little less significant.  Those thoughts shocked and appalled me.  When did I become such an elitist?  When did staying in your home town and becoming a more woven member of a community which raised you become "less than"?  It made me angry that I would feel this way, but I resolved that just because it is not what I want for my life, does not make it insignificant. My life is no more important, and I have no right or desire to look down on anyone. And what do I know?  Maybe some of those people I was so quick to judge are following their dreams and are doing something they love and feel is meaningful.  Many of them are probably giving back to the community and doing things that a necessary for the town.  And most importantly, many of them are probably happy. 

Perhaps what I was interpreting initially stemmed from my correlation between high achieving goals and a high sense of self worth.  Maybe I thought I was seeing people who didn't think very highly of themselves and therefore weren't striving to achieve all they were capable of.  I do think that one's sense of self-importance and capability is a major factor in how one sets goals and how far out of comfort zones one may be willing to go.  And honestly, I know through experience that "formal" education of the traditionally valued subjects in school does not always provide the inspiration a person might need.  There is no substitute for experience, and I wish all schools had the resources to provide alternative education methods which would encourage leaning in a variety of ways. The only way to really expand your confidence and sense of personal possibility is to to challenge your options and capabilities, but it is not always easy, and unless someone discovers a motivation to do so or has someone to encourage them, it may seem impossible or may not even be a consideration. I understand too that not everyone who can push themselves wants to, and not everyone wants to move away from what they know.  It is because of this difference of choice that we have such a variety of people within our culture. 
I feel extremely fortunate that I even have a choice to explore new opportunities.  When I think of people in the world who fight everyday to just stay alive, I can't help but feel that the freedom to be curious is a luxury.  My frustrations with those who, as I see them, have the resources and the ability to challenge themselves but don't comes from this feeling that it is privilege to be able to learn, it is a privilege to have the opportunity to grow, and it is a privilege to experience life and have the chance of joining progress and embracing inevitable change.  When I ponder why I want to know and learn so many different things, I instantly think, why not?  I hope for sake of the future, and for anyone expecting life to land in their laps, that curiosity can become more contagious and reality more apparent.

The way I see it, everything begins with possibility.  Every person has something to offer, something to teach, or some energy to share, and every community, no matter how big or small, needs members to support it.  I am the product of a close community.  It is because the people who work there, struggle there, thrive there, and live there that I am who I am.  And someday, those who stay there will raise a new generation that will also grow in many directions, have different opinions, different goals, and will affect the world in different ways. 

By the end of the my week as a temp, I was talking to each person on that floor, laughing and joking with them, even Cindy, and I was able to find some basis for a simple co-worker relationship with all of them.  So even though my hands were a mess, my head hurt from the light, and what I was doing ended with sending out packets of information to people I didn't know, I look back at that week with fondness.  It was important to me to feel a sense of community around me, so I cultivated it, and was able to make connections with people regardless of the situation.  I also made my first friend in Bozeman in the lunchroom, so the time was worthwhile. 

My last day, Daniel Craig came up to me and told me I was a great worker and that he wanted to offer me a full-time position.  I had to turn him down, because I had just found out that I was offered a different job, but I thanked him anyway and asked him if anyone had ever told him he looked like James Bond.  "Why yes actually" he said. "My kids refer to me as Mr. Bond.  But thanks!"