If this weekend proved anything, it’s that I’m an introvert. I’m kind of one of those tricky personalities where there are pretty strong cases for both sides. Ultimately, when it comes down to the age-old and terrifically simple question of “Do you get energized from being with people or by yourself?” the answer is obvious. Case in point: life just doesn’t get much happier than me, in bed, eating Chipotle, and watching Real Housewives of Orange County this last Sunday after a weekend of camping.
Me. Alone. Glory be.
There’s your energy boost.
This is most likely why I’ve COMPLETELY over romanticized the idea of a cabin. I have created such an image of what my dream cabin looks like that it’s almost like it really exists. There’s solitude. Creaking wood floors. An old oven– the kind that just makes cookies taste better. On a small hill with big windows and big trees sweeping the roof. Shoes banned. Socks required. Cabinets stacked and stacked and stacked with mismatched bowls. Natural light. All of the throw blankets. All of them. And me alone. With visitors. But visitors that I can then be all like “K, bye.” Let’s all breathe out together now. Ahhhhh.
K. So that doesn’t exist. Not yet. It will. But not yet.
IN THE MEANTIME… We have Cabin Porn. And their beautiful book by the same name. My all-time favorite kind of porn. Made specifically for the moments when I have to be in not a cabin with my shoes on and humans buzzing around me. Yeesh.
I want to go to there.