Bozing around

I do think Bozing could be a verb.

At least for me. It has this ring of not quite lazing but not quite up to par. Its like a contemplative preparatory laze...there is a very particular state that I enter when I make the kinds of changes that are glitzy and shiny and look-at-me! sort of changes. The kinds that you can't hide in the sleepy trance of a routine or constant distractions you have to contend with when traveling with someone. And this coping mechanism is, as of now, will officially be recognized here as Bozing: A modality by which one can move towards acclimating to what is suddenly new and changed when the individual would much rather sleep for a day. Or maybe a week.

It is sort of like this pseudo-shutting down. It is this soft walking into and through the world but really only being with yourself. It also involves sitting in a lot of place that bring about familiarity. i.e for me, cafes and co-ops.

In case you have not guessed, I am in Bozeman, Montana. After parting ways with mother in Missoula, I decided that it would be best to decompress before venturing onward. Aforementioned family friend Lisa was kind enough to let me post up at her apartment and because she would be out of town working the next few days, I would have the place to myself to Boze.

Another reason for my new title: Bozeman has been one of the best Bozing grounds I've ever come across. Sure, I have been spending a lot of time catching up on the blog which means a lot of time indoors. But I also have to put forth hardly any effort to find some nice outdoor space to breath and think and be, all equally important qualities of the bozing process. Right outside of the apartment for instance, is an access point to a trail that weaves secretly through wooded neighborhood streets, along streams, and can even be followed from one end of the city to the other, up into mountain trails. From the top of "Peet's Hill" there, you can see mountains in every direction that illuminate in a halo when the sun sets and rises. I visited the hilltop my first evening in town and any flustered stirring in the heart just calmed.



Yesterday, I ventured off to hike to the big 'M' 5,800 feet up one of the mountain sides. After foolishly assuming I'd marked the right trail, I hiked 2 miles on a rather flat field of wildflowers, expecting it to shoot up any time but getting more skeptical as I lost sight of the mountain. The right trail was just a "block"s worth away so I went for it. The description I'd read was immediately more recognizable here: DIRECT STEEP ASENT. As I huffed along, a few spry older hikers passed me. I had noticed a number of odd little paths teetering off towards the middle of the mountain and asked if they knew if I'd passed the M. Sure enough, I had gone about 200 feet too high. Back at its base, I was able to rest on a couple benches where a local woman and her kids joined me and we got to talking about alternative schooling and how much she adored growing up in Bozeman. We looked out over the city, small enough to see a good spread of from our vantage point, and I felt like I was sharing that same homey admiration with her.

And its true, I really am playing house with this neighborhood. It is ridiculously easy to feel at home here. In addition to the endless range of mountains, there are an abundance of bunnies commuting through the lawns as commonplace as squirrels. Tribes of Black-billed Magpies argue noisily over who has the better perch (or something) but I have yet to be bothered by their obnoxious chatter cause they are so damn pretty looking for being a pest bird. Stretches of country road leading out of town take me past local breweries, local galleries, local artisan bakers…so much local! On a Tuesday afternoon, the little trail path bustles as it becomes a main transit line for locals heading out for an evening farmers market outside of a playground. There, not only is there a bountiful selection of Farm Vendors with quirky names like “crazy view” and “Three Fiddle” but there are food vendors galore, live music, and attractions like face painting and a big bungee jump. The market also seems to be overwhelmingly accommodating of young entrepenuers. Many of the vendors were teens or even college students who wanted to take a stab at marketing their craft. 

Also, the name is just so damn fun to say: Bozeman. It is so easy to just be here.

And yet, it does make me blaringly aware of my spoiled, privileged white girl status.

But it’s a tree on a mountain. And each tree gives life. There is a place in me for this utopian exploration. This comfort that allows me to remember how to just enjoy. I am surrounded by hiking trails where I am constantly seeing my world shift as I climb higher into rocks, looking down to something that once looked so large, becoming a part of all the things around me that I could not appreciate on something so large. And then the coming down, the looking back up to see the trek I’ve made.

The duality of big and small are constantly revealing themselves out here.