September 12, 2025

Yesterday, it hit me hard! Not physically, but I could feel my heart shudder. I looked around, at the pulchritude trees, and mountains, and faced the uncomfortable reality that this magnificent place was not my permanent home. The park, for many, is a space to heal. A transient room, to rest, to recover, to hit the nice, and needed, PAUSE button on life's remote. People come when its their time to come, and go when its their time to leave. An individual calendar, for an individual experience. Life at Yellowstone exists in seasonal rotation, with a never ending turnstile of employees. A community of people facing unique, personal obstacles, but in a shared space, together. For a while, my ideas around Yellowstone's permanence felt obfuscated. Perhaps I could stay here, in the woods, in my cabin, in my job, in the comforted, quiet arms of nature. Choosing this however, would not change the truth of the communities' temporality. That said, there are a notable amount of salaried individuals who have settled down here. Staying for the winters, for the openings, the closings, the forever. I pingponged this around in my mind. A winter here... Another summer? A life. While I'm sure I ~could~ do it, I began to grapple with/against my mind. The thing that hit me yesterday was the understanding that this is not the life I was going to choose for myself. That I will not be staying, no matter how much I care for it. Forever, here, was a quixotic idea. There is an auspicious new chapter coming when Yellowstone is over. But to get there, it requires a "Yellowstone Over." To digest that, to really sit with it, brought on a surge of emotions. I began to grieve. Each sign post held new meaning. The bison, a more sensitive importance. The breeze felt stronger, the air fresher, the mountains more sacred, now that it was temporary. I cried at the immense gratitude pooling in my heart. The park had carried me through months of difficulty. Hard adjustments to the real world, of the Earth being"too big." Yellowstone stood still as my mind, my emotions galavanted through hills and tunnels. As I worked through feelings of isolation, of dissociative change, of heartache, and immense discomfort. The park held hands with my shaking nervous system and taught me to hold still. Of how to ground myself without the direct contact of friends, boyfriends, and family nearby. The mountains gave me focus. A tangible practice. To climb is to physically, emotionally, and mentally exert yourself. A vulnerability which tested my strength, my endurance, in a way I'd never been challenged before. I haven't left yet, but I know now that I am going to. I am beginning to understand what that means. What that feels like. Tricky as it may feel in the moment, I'm appreciative. I love this place, man. I've never felt quite like this before.