By: Kerry Williams
When my husband, Spencer, and I first moved here, we experienced a spring fairly similar to the one we’re experiencing now. The winter brought lots of snow in the late season that was heavy with moisture, and the sky continued to rain even after it was too cold to create snow. It was 1997. We were working in Livingston at the time, and the level of the Yellowstone River crept up over time, not like the surge that happened this year. We chipped in with filling and moving sandbags to try to protect property and shore up precarious riverbanks. It was a time of great stress but also great opportunity to come together as a community. It was a feeling of doing good, and doing everything possible to prevent catastrophe. When difficult things happen it helps to gather together, but when an entire community is shellshocked, it’s harder to find the comfort we seek. It’s the difference between not having to use words when spending time with an old friend and having to explain yourself to a new friend - the depth of feeling that comes with shared time and effort has a different tone. It is not easy to get knocked down out of the blue and have to piece a life together that had been planned a very different way. When I talk to people now who lost either property or future business to the floods we just saw rip through the landscape, I can see the desperation and confusion on their faces, and I think the experience will affect them for a long time to come. Being able to prepare and work toward a solution, even if it ends in the same difficult outcome, somehow strengthens us and gives us a way to process the challenge. Whenever I’ve been blindsided by bad news, it takes so much longer to come to terms with the situation and find my footing, if I ever manage to do so. I far prefer putting things back together if I know I’ve done all I can to minimize the pain in the first place. It seems like that preparation shouldn’t matter, but it is actually key. It’s why I have to say that I am really confused by why such simple things can bring comfort. If the origin of a crisis is so complicated that it’s almost impossible to pull apart pieces such as timing and control and relationships and intentions, then why can I find such joy in the tiniest things? My kid is experimenting with colored nails right now, and one of the bottles is called Confetti. It’s clear, with brightly colored specks that disperse randomly across the surface. I put this nail polish on my fingers this past weekend and I can’t tell you the joy it brings me, almost constantly, throughout the day. The fact that I can look down at my hands and see a little burst of fun has made my life better in a very tangible way - I am simply happier. The feeling is clear and immediate and uncomplicated. I am not at all suggesting that a painted fingernail can overcome a deep sadness, in fact I am very much on board with the backlash to the self-care movement, which can seem to suggest that a spa day can counteract societal failures. What I do want to remember is that we can find comfort and happiness in small, unexpected ways. I don’t consider surprises my friend, but maybe this light feeling of “huh, I wasn’t expecting that” can bring me along the path a little further toward contentment. And maybe the inner joy I can build through meaningful micro-moments can shore up my own banks high enough to offer help and comfort to others when they need it most. Praying for the resiliency of our landscape and the people who live and rely on it, and that joy will come again in unexpected ways.