Final installment (I think) of the Remembering Montana series that documented my family’s three week adventure, ranch-sitting in the Bitterroot Valley. In our charge were three majestic horses, two sweet donkeys, and two rescue dogs. For additional entries, scroll down and navigate back. Some of these reflections were recently written, but mostly I republished posts I’d shared via social media during our experience. I mentioned a few additional stories that I’d hoped to reflect on and add to the documentation, but so far, the words for those aren’t coming. Maybe those stories will still be told…maybe not.
Last Day, October 9, 2018:
I know I haven’t updated in a few days. Just me and the animals today. My family left for home early this morning. Really grateful we packed and loaded as much as we did yesterday in the sunshine because we woke up to rain and lots of mud. Got to get out and muck those stalls at some point today, but I think I’d just make a bigger mess if I tried to do it right now. Feeding the horses by myself in the drizzle and sloppy mud this morning was messy enough.
I’ve done years of inner work around the concept of expectations. I used to be a pretty cranky person much of the time because my high expectations of others (and myself) always led to disappointment. This went for experiences too. I’d get an idea in my head of things playing out perfectly, ensuring we all got the most out of a family outing or vacation that when someone didn’t play along as I’d imagined, the dream shattered and I would end up both livid and wallowing in self-loathing, certain I was doing a terrible job of raising my family.
It’s taken me a long time—seriously years of intentional practice—to come to a place in myself that allows for endless possibilities instead of the one imagined outcome, and to realize that each person in my family is an individual with his or her own agenda. Best to enter into situations with curiosity rather than expectation. And then be okay with messy. Life is messy and there’s beauty in the mess.
This approach is helping me to actually know my kids instead of trying to force fantasy kids I made up in my head before they were even born. It helps me to advocate for their authenticity instead of expecting them to represent me as the world’s best mom. Don’t get me wrong—it’s still really hard to disregard the expectations of others that I will control my children and mold them into perfectly behaved citizens. I’ve decided that my job is not shaping, but seeing and acknowledging. Allowing rather than demanding. Not teaching them, but learning with them—always learning.
It was messy getting my family out the door this morning. There were mistakes, meltdowns, and mud. Agreements were made last night that we’d finish the last bit of loading and work together to clean up, but this morning I could tell the kindest thing I could do was to shower them all in love, get them on the road, and embrace the mess that was left.
I implored them to take care of each other as they drove off in the rain toward the foggy mountains (will there be snow?,) eight hours of travel ahead of them. I’ll lovingly clean the messes I insisted they leave behind because it’s the best I can do as they weather the world without me today.
Restoring Justis 