Transition is always what it is. Usually tough, but hopefully rewarding on some level.
After several weeks of remodeling two homes six-hours apart, driving back and forth through Yellowstone National Park had become my regular commute.
We’d been complaining that during the drive from Powell to Pinedale, Wyoming, the park seemed devoid of much wildlife. A few scattered buffalo sleeping, off in the distance, or a scraggly elk munching near a campsite, wasn’t really living up to the brochures they handed out at the entrance.
After stopping briefly to wash ourselves in the mountain run-off next to the highway, three male Big Horn Sheep appeared up the road before us, running at full speed. They stopped for a moment and stared right at us. I wasn’t sure if they’d find us to be a threat or not, but it was their decision. I wasn’t about to initiate any medieval jousting challenge. If they wanted to ram me, well, there was really no stopping them.
Instead, they decided to proceed, giving us a magnificent view of their speed and power as they bolted past us, just a few feet away.
Call it a sign; or just a rare, spontaneous moment of being in the right place at the right time, but it was in-fact, a very moving experience. It made me feel good about the direction I was heading. The path I began over a year ago to transition from one home to another was somehow validated in my spirit.
I’ve set in motion something that now has a life of its own, and all I can do is face it head-on and let it continue to run its course.