I MOVED TO THE MOUNTAINS TO BE ALONE
Leaving Quietly
I left Indianapolis without drama—just a quiet exit. “Jay, a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains?” my sister Carly had asked. “You hate bugs. You cried over your last houseplant.” She wasn’t wrong. But I needed to feel real again.
Starting Over
I drove to my late grandfather’s unused cabin, bringing tools, food, and fragments of who I used to be. I barely remembered him, but the cabin felt like a last chance.
Alone, At Last
Silence replaced sirens. I chopped wood, read by headlamp, and got gloriously lost in solitude.
The Donkey
Then one foggy Thursday, something moved—“Something brown. Low. Four-legged.”
