It was my own fault.
Only a few soft, fluffy flakes were falling when I left for this trip hours earlier. The kind of spring snow that gently drifts down, melting as soon as it hits the ground.
That was the first warning sign I ignored.
It was March, and Montana, so soon enough, those gentle flakes eventually morphed into blinding bouts of snow flurries then freezing sleet. I’ve driven through storms, but that wasn’t an option anymore.
I was stuck.
Stuck on a snowy mountain pass near Bozeman, Montana, trying to get to Yellowstone.
Not just me. Cars, trucks, and semis oh my! were all parked on the sheet of ice known as I-90, the 4-lane interstate that normally cruises along at 80mph. After three hours and barely going a few miles, the thorofare had become a parking lot - we were all at a standstill.
Which might be better.
The road was much icier than this short video shows and . . .
No one had chains on their tires - or reception - the intensity of the blizzard caught us all by surprise.
We were on a downslope so if traffic ever got moving again, gravity and I repeat the entire interstate had become a glacial mass. Semi drivers are pros, but . . . all this ice! Anyone can slip on ice. Especially without chains.
But it was a moot point, since we still weren’t moving. Snow swirled as temperatures and darkness began to fall.
I worried the supplies in my car weren’t enough for a freezing night.
Worse, I had my little 20 pound dog with me. I now didn’t want him to be on this trip, and I felt awful for putting him at risk like this. I took stock of all we had to get us through a snowy, snowy night.
Snowier than this short video . . .
I had packed an extra jacket, a blanket, some handwarmers, plenty of food for my dog, a snack for me, but a low water supply.
How long could we last in freezing temps and a finite tank of gas? Could we snuggle up together and stay warm enough? Or would we get frostbite if I had to turn off my car to save on gas?
Thankfully, I had filled up my tank a few miles away in Bozeman, having an ounce of foresight - and years and years of my father reminding me to fill up whenever I can in the winter, just in case I got stuck on a freezing pass like this.
But the ounce of foresight was accompanied by about 10 pounds of denial.
You’d think that the cars I saw on the side of the road in Bozeman – spun out the ice and then stuck in snowbanks - you’d think that would have triggered alarm bells and made me stay in town. Another thing my father harps on is to get a hotel if the weather is bad - even if you’re only 90 minutes away from the destination and it’s 4pm.
Just. Get. A. Hotel.
But no, I saw the signs and thought - well I wasn’t thinking and that’s the point. If I had to put my “thinking” into words, it would have been full of denial and vagaries:
“I’m sure I’ll get over the pass just fine.”
When Chaos takes the lead
When I was idling on that mountain pass in March 2023, I had plenty of time to doubt and question myself.
Why was I even going to Yellowstone? Did I really need to go? And on this particular day? No. And no. Why had I planned so poorly that I put myself and my dog in this situation?
Some part of me felt I could beat the storm, and it was in the driver’s seat.
But something in me also knew the timing of this trip was off. Something in me knew those soft fluffy flakes in Missoula would turn into a raging blizzard by Bozeman.
But. But. I really wanted to get to Yellowstone.
I cringe, looking back at this moment, and part of me wishes I could skip it - just not share about this day and instead tell you about my other trips to Yellowstone, the ones where I wasn’t such a fuck up.
But that wouldn’t be fair to you.
If you think inner peace means skipping over chaos, then you won’t be prepared the next time something big and “unexpected” happens. Chaos is predictable, so much so I put it in my framework - 4 Stages of the Path to Peace.
Chaos is one way to describe Stage 1.
Why is Chaos on the path to peace?
Because the first step to peace often begins when we realize we’re in the middle of a mess.
I prefer to first show the Stages without official names so people can come up with their own associations, but I do have Official Names for the Stages. I’ll describe the Stages more in my future writings.
Since I hadn’t developed this framework at the time of this story, we can set it aside for now. It’s enough to know that . . .
I was stuck in chaos - the swirling snow around me AND the swirling, panicked feelings within.
Time inched along, minute by minute, until it was night. No one had answers. No one could help. All I could do was wait.
I didn’t want to accept it. The discomfort and inner knowing that I should have, could have . . .
Why was I going to Yellowstone?
Chasing a breakthrough
I’d been mired in my own inner chaos back at home, unsure of my future and where I would live come summer. I wanted to somehow flip the switch. Isn’t a change in location supposed to do that? Aren’t beautiful places like Yellowstone peace-inspiring?
I did need to research wolves for a fiction story, so that’s why I chose Yellowstone. And it was March in Montana and I didn’t have plane tickets or a friend who could watch my dog. So I couldn’t go far.
At only 4 hours away from the city I lived, Yellowstone is right next door, in Montana terms. Why not go?
But it’s like what I recently shared in my weekly peace email, Wednesday Wisdom - craving breakthroughs doesn’t make them more likely to come about. And chasing them can get you stuck on a snowy mountain pass when you know better.
Because really, I did know better.
I grew up in the mountains of Colorado . . .
I know what spring storms are like, how unpredictable. I could have followed my gut telling me to wait until the next day, or pulled over in Bozeman and NOT gone up the pass.
It doesn’t matter if Yellowstone is only 90 minutes from Bozeman on a good day. On a stormy day, it’s many hours away in real travel time and a hotel in Bozeman would have been worth every penny.
I had a decision to make. I could sit in fear and stay angry with myself, with the storm. Or . . .
I could practice what I preach and try to find peace.
I know from my experience and the experiences of my students, that peace is always available, in the present moment. Just like the stones in the photo are always there, even if the water is dark, muddy, or icy.
As I wrestled with myself trying to find peace, I slowly moved from Stage 1 to Stage 2 - a negotiation process with my fear. I can’t say I had an instant change to peace and good feelings.
Fear is so loud, so truthful sounding.
But I realized that if that if this was really my last day on this earth, I didn’t want to spend my remaining time in bitterness or fear.
So what did I do?
I did my best to make my breathing slow, steady, comfortable.
I meditated with my eyes open, something I’ve learned to do moderately well in the 25 years since I started meditating. I got much better at eyes-open meditation at the non-denominational monastery I lived in for over a year, so I was able to fall back on these skills when safety required my eyes to stay open, but my body needed calming.
I didn’t become blissful. But I did stay calm.
Calm enough. Even now two years later, I’m tearing up a little as I write this, my dog on my lap, remembering those moments that felt like they could be our last.
I reminded myself that yes, I knew better than to drive straight into a spring storm, but it was too late to change my actions.
I had to accept the situation I was in - but that didn’t mean I liked it.
I learned acceptance is not the same a liking. It means radical honesty about our current situation, warts, blizzards, and all.
Gradually, a feeling of calm-enough came. I eventually stopped blaming myself.
Moving On
You’re reading this now, so you know I did survive the storm.
And with all the build up of this story, it might be a touch disappointing to hear that traffic eventually got moving again, slowly, and without any accidents, at least not near me or that I know of.
No frostbite either.
I don’t normally eat a lot of fast food, but I can tell you that after idling and driving over a snowy pass for 4 hours, the fast food place I pulled into was a more-than hallowed sanctuary.
The plain floors and generic wall decorations glowed in welcoming warmth. At no other time in my life have I been so glad to be in fast food restaurant.
I still had an hour’s drive to get to Yellowstone, but I could tell the storm wasn’t so bad on this side of the pass. So I finally arrived after 9 pm after 9 hours travel time, when normally, on a clear day, the trip is only 4 hours.
While I remained grateful and glad to alive, the whole experience cast a shadow over that trip to Yellowstone. I didn’t get a magic, life-changing breakthrough moment.
And with the freezing temps, I couldn’t have my dog outside for long or leave him idling in the car so I could get out at the pullouts and look for wildlife. So I just cruised the roads, only seeing two wolves briefly after three days of driving and one of the wolfs was peeing.
Which made me feel even more dumb for risking my life for a trip that turned out to be meh.
And yes, now I always leave my dog at a boarding kennel when I go to Yellowstone. It’s not the best place for dogs, in any weather.
Now, I can look back and see the way I was all tangled up in that Stage 1 Chaos before I left for this trip. If I had accepted those feelings, accepted the fact that I was feeling too much internal chaos to travel safely, I could have waited to leave the next day, when the skies were totally clear.
And it’s not just trips to Yellowstone.
Now I know that if I’m feeling Stage 1 chaos, I need to wait before I make any big decisions, or drive into a snow storm.
If you’d like a meditation to help inspire stability in the midst of chaos, enjoy one of the guided mediations I recorded on another trip to Yellowstone. My photos of the place are in the video, so you can practice eyes-open meditation if you’d like.
In future writings I’ll share about other trips to Yellowstone, like the time I went over the pass before a storm hit so I could record more meditations like this one.
AND I’ll share tips on inner peace that have nothing to do with blizzards or Yellowstone.
In future posts for subscribers, I’ll explain in more detail about those squiggly lines in my framework: The 4 Stages of Inner Peace.
Thank You
Thanks for some of your precious time and attention today! I’m honored to share my stories and thoughts on peace.
Please share this post and subscribe if you haven’t yet!
In peace,
Juniper
Acknowledgments
This writing and all the videos and images came from Juniper McKelvie and were produced in Montana, on the ancestral homelands of the Bitterroot Salish, Upper Pend d’Oreille, the Kootenai, the Blackfeet, and Crow First Nations; and in Wyoming, on land that is sacred to at least 27 First Nations.
I’m grateful to the many generations who carefully preserved these beautiful landscapes and the diversity of plants, animals, people, and ecosystems.
4 Stages of the Path to Peace design and concept by Juniper McKelvie.
Image of 4 Stages of the Path to Peace created by Kiana Hamel.
