Wear gratitude like a cloak, and it will feed every corner of your life
- Rumi
Back in the early days of this country, when European immigrants marched west, I imagine they looked around and said "this looks different, let's call this a different state." Crossing the border from South Dakota into Wyoming felt immediately like I was in a different state. I had left the plains and entered the Wild West. The landscape became red, cornfields having dissipated and soon I saw mountain ranges in the distance. I drove in silence this entire day, giddy with awe and wonder as I soaked in the views before me.
Teachers of mindfulness and meditation talk often about the power of practicing gratitude. In the few months before my trip, practicing gratitude was one strategy that helped me find joy in my life. Depression began to loosen its hold on me. By finding something each day I could be grateful for - taking a walk outside, the sun shining, snuggling with my pets, quality time with Ben, a good meal - my mind began to shift, ever so slightly, from focusing only on what wasn't working, what we didn't have, how unfair the world felt, to also appreciating the good (as hard as that was some days).
On this day, driving into Wyoming and seeing the earth rise in front of the horizon as I reached the mountains, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. It rushed into me and through me, filling my heart and soul to the brim. Gratitude for this vision quest, for being lucky enough to have a reliable vehicle, for finding a way to make this happen financially, for having vacation time that had been built up for a potential future maternity leave that I was choosing to use instead to help me live now, today. More than once, the beauty of the sights before me brought tears to my eyes.
Big Horn Scenic Byway, U.S. 16, provided breathtaking views as I wound through my first mountain range of this vision quest. I drove up and down in elevation, leaning far forward in my seat to see as much through my windshield as possible. "Is this real life?" I thought more than once. I stopped at a few vistas, including Powder River Pass, elevation: 9,666 feet. It was cold enough for me to pull out my winter coat and hat before heading up the snow-covered peak in front of me, my boots creating fresh tracks in the snow.
I wasn't sure if I'd make it to my target destination - Yellowstone National Park - before dark, especially after an earlier detour to Mount Rushmore (when in South Dakota...) and a short nap on the side of the highway after leaving Bighorn National Forest. But the timing worked out perfectly and I reached the final stretch just before sunset.
Driving toward Yellowstone's east entrance from Cody felt like I had entered a secret passage into Neverland. The road that must have been carved into place passed between Cedar and Rattlesnake mountains, massive rocks towering above. The view opened to a magical place with a lake (I later saw on the map that this was Buffalo Bill Reservoir), sparkling with the late afternoon sun, contained by rock cliffs on all sides.
Yellowstone itself was scarred with evidence of forest fires from years past, and did not disappoint in wildlife sightings. A herd of bison with several young calves, elk grazing in the woods with a magnificent buck standing guard, a young elk trotting down the road, massive antlers wider than my car, wailing a cry much like a human scream with an eerie other-worldly timbre.
I drove along Yellowstone lake at sunset, watching as the sky changed color. Looking back at the selfie I took at the lake, I am amazed that it seems to capture the feelings of complete contentment and gratitude for standing there at that moment with the beautiful sky behind me.
Lewis Lake Campground was the only campground open at that time of year, and the sites were first-come-first-serve. I pulled in just after dark, looking for an open spot. Finding a site with no vehicle or tent, I parked and began to set up, trying out my new mallet and tent stakes I had picked up along the way. I filled out the reservation envelope and walked over to the post to attach my slip. A quick glance at the post and panic began to rise inside me. Another slip was already in the clip, with today's date. I had taken someone's spot, and my tent was already set up! Soon enough, a mini school bus pulled up and a couple with two elementary-aged kids got out. They were from Oregon, and had converted the bus into a RV. I realized that since I have never been the type of person to travel or camp with an RV, I hadn't even thought of the fact that a space with no vehicle or tent might already be reserved. Thankfully, they were willing to share the site with me, as they only needed the parking space.
The stars were abundant and bright that clear, cold night. I looked up until my neck hurt, wondering how this universe could possibly be so beautiful and vast. Later, I lay in my sleeping bag, listening to the quiet conversation and crackle of the fire as the family from Oregon roasted marshmallows in the fire pit near my tent, again feeling grateful. Journeys aren't perfect, just as I am not perfect. Yet I had seen so much already, had so much to appreciate. What a glorious day.
I am enjoying your story and quest in maintaining gratitude. Thank you for sharing!
Loving your narration and can’t wait for the next installment. I love Yellowstone (we’ve been there four times)!