A clearing in the forest is the best place you can be when you need to recharge—and your definition of recharging includes not being around other human beings, trusting your sensitive dog to roam without interference, and still having moderate internet connection for work. That’s where the clearing bit comes in. Starlink does best without tree obstructions. But the forest itself is lovely for privacy—I write this three turns down long, narrow roads, barely more than walking paths overgrown with grass—and immersion in another world, the one we humans still belong to (no matter how much we tout our progress and superiority).
At 5:30 the alarm went off and I stumbled out of bed, warm from all three of us sharing the small space, to throw open the side door. Scout bounded out. I crawled back under the covers with Sean.
Later this morning I will pick up the few pieces of trash former campers left behind. I will meet with a client for an hour, calling audio-only to avoid connection lags. I will finish Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier (thank you, CJ Hauser, for that inspiration) and I will write my own words. And it will be quiet except for birdsong, and there will be wildflowers (mostly yellow), and Scout will lounge in a bed of trampled grasses, and when she prances through the taller treeline plants we will see nothing but the white flash of her tail. I will feel thankful for her tick preventative. I will laugh when she insists on eating the tiniest piece of grass when she thinks I am not looking. And I will breathe, I will relax, I will allow myself to move more slowly than I have for the last several weeks.
And maybe this time I will actually figure something out. Finish my manuscript’s second draft? Redefine my experience with social media once and for all? Or simply share space more confidently with the discomfort of life and goals and present joy meeting delayed gratification.