I had the most difficult time getting this here blog post started. Thankfully, I was listening to the song on repeat "A Face To Call Home" by John Mayer and it wove a beautiful theme for me.

Rain and sunshine must share the sky to give us a glorious rainbow, and most would consider the two to be oppositional in nature.

Montana so far (I'm somewhere around the 8-week mark) has been brutal and incredible. 

It's been rough and generous. 

It's been cruel and kind.

It's been full of disappointment and jubilation.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

"I am an architect of days that haven't happened yet... you know my paper heart? The one I filled with pencil marks? I think I might have gone and inked you in." 

My interest and intention was to come here with an open heart and mind, and learn the Montanan way much like I did the Michigan way during that journey. Here was my gameplan:

• The approach: to observe and learn from a passive state of reverence, respect, honor, thoughtfulness, and gratitude. 

• The anticipated result of this approach: be embraced and welcomed in for my being so willing to learn the Montanan way. I thought my intention would be recognized and felt, and I thought it would make things relatively harmonious. 

• What I've experienced: Businesses have made written and verbal commitments only to continuously ghost me. I've been refused the purchase of farm fresh eggs after learning I was an out-of-stater. I've been berated for asking for help moving a 500lb bed made out of at least 5 trees, I swear. I had another offer to help me move to my second place only to then not come through, and I had a group of gals tell me that they didn't want to come meet me from across the bar because of what they thought of me at first glance.

Brutal. Hurtful. Disappointing. Defeating. Confusing. Disorienting. Identity-crisis making stuff right there when a person is already in a complete void state of identity having just sold her house, given away most of her belongings, left her business, and moved as a single gal with just her dog and cat.

But you know what? In addition to this yucky stuff, I have sweeping evidence of so much good. There's hardly a day I don't encounter a beautiful person with whom I share time, friendly conversation, or a walk at a new place I've yet to experience. I've made new friends who are beautifully-hearted, and who see my intention. They see my heart.

"Little by little, inch by inch we built a yard with a garden in the middle of it. It ain't much, but it's a start. You've got me swaying right along to the song in your heart" 

The nature of the mind is to focus on the painful stuff in an effort to reroute us and protect us. I get it. It makes sense.

The problem with allowing that negative-only focus, however, is that it isn't conclusive. It doesn't in any way occupy the whole picture. 

If the daylight is your preference, then the mind hyper-focuses on the presence of night as a threat. But how can you truly treasure the day if not for the transition into and from darkness?

What the brain doesn't know (because it's solely a record-keeper of the past- it's not able to imagine) is that - back to the John Mayer lyrics - there are days that haven't happened yet which I previously architected.

And like Finn - who, when I'm walking with him, will immediately lie down the second I answer a phone call as if to say in a somewhat confident and snarky way, "I'll wait, Mom" -  I. WILL. WAIT.

"Maybe I can stay a while, maybe I can stay a while, maybe I can stay a while, I'm talking like all of the time."

The Jenn of even a year ago wasn't ready for this challenge, and I wouldn't have succeeded. But this right here, right now Jesus Jones style Jenn? Oh, she's ready. 

She's ready to hold the AND.