I’m feeling kind of shaky today. My two older sons are with their dad and granddad in the wilderness of Yellowstone Park on a pack trip. Horses and tents and campfires, the real deal. This also means no cell phones. I thought I’d be alright with this, but I woke up this morning with a lump in my throat and an empty pain in my gut. Was it the bear mauling story I saw before I clicked off the light last night? First one since 1986 in Yellowstone.
You know how your children sound so much littler on the phone? Far away, high munchkin voices pressed to your ear. Umbilical cord still intact through the ether. It’s been 36 hours. My boys are in the woods, off the grid, unreachable.
I hold onto that idea that the path to freedom is mostly about letting go. That it’s not easy, but when we walk through the painful, hard stuff with an open heart, we get to walk out somehow feeling expansive and free. This is what the wise ones keep telling us. They must be right because that’s the way it always happens for me, when I’m brave enough. Right now I’m not feeling brave. I just want to curl up into a fetal position and wave my white flag. Letting go feels impossible.
I’m listening to this song, reminding me of the grace on the other side:
That and Heidi Swanson’s Cauliflower Soup with Mustard Croutons I made last night are keeping me together. You should skip the soup and just make the croutons.