On the desire to live in a cabin in the woods

n an airplane recently I watched the Colorado River carve through the mountains in places without a road beside it. I want to live there, I thought—to hole up in a cabin in the woods. To let the world do all the crazy things it will do without me. To live peacefully and beautifully without having to worry about any of it.

This desire to abscond to the wilds is not a new phenomenon. This is the tradition Henry David Thoreau steps into, as well as John Muir, and now Martijn Doolaard. None of these individuals had to live this way, but all chose to forgo the comforts of modern life for something quieter.

I crave it.

The more I’m online, aware, watching the news. The more busy life gets, full of travel and calendar invites scheduled a month out. The more money I spend and things I have. It doesn’t feel enough anymore to not be on social media. I crave a deeper immersion. To not just get rid of parts of it but to get rid of it all. To enjoy something much simpler.

To enjoy something without.

Without screens and media and television.
Without microwaves and delivery and convenience.
Without cars and airplanes and speed.
Without calendars and schedules and planning.
Without expensive clothes and expensive vacations and always craving more.

Just a cabin in the woods with nothing.

It’s a sign of progress, they say, that our standard of living has increased. That more people can afford to buy more things and go to more places than ever before. It’s a sign of progress, they say, that we can reach anyone anywhere at all times—that we have phones and computers and internets. It’s a sign of progress, they say, that we can work on our computers and not out in the world with our hands.

And yet the more I have of all of it, I find myself wanting less of it. I want to live out in the wilds. The pandemic was the closest I’ve come to living that way, and among my happiest times. We didn’t travel beyond where we could drive. My husband and I got in our camper van and spent long stretches in the woods. We cooked simple meals outside and drank tea. We hiked up the closed ski slopes. I wasn’t online at all at the time, I was quietly working on a gothic novel no one ever heard of.