Alone in the Woods
I have this particular, reoccurring daydream. In it, I am alone in the woods, generally staying in a cabin, or maybe camping in a tent by a lake. I have my food taken care of: maybe a bag of rice and a bag of beans or possibly a supply of canned food. My time is spent doing some basic, old-fashioned chores—chopping wood, cooking over a fire, carrying water from the lake; exploring my surroundings by hikes or runs; and reading and writing. I am free from distraction and can focus on a few important things. I might have the collection of great books or maybe just four or five unapproachable, profound books. Maybe the Art of War—a book that reveals little from a casual read, but has received so much hype and has an air mystery surrounding it that just maybe if I were to spend a month reading it without distraction, I could crack the code and reveal its hidden message. Or so goes my dream.
I don’t think that I would really enjoy acting out this dream. Rather than any basis in reality, I think it is more a rejection of modern life which I find overwhelmingly complicated sometimes. Days can go by—or when I’m unfocused, months or even years—without working on the things that matter to me. I wake up one morning—or more likely, lay in bed unable to sleep—and realize that I have only been doing what’s important to other people, without spending the time to figure out what I want. And so I dream of a life where my only focus is my bare minimum survival and my creative work.
