The Forest Taught Me Nothing, It Also Taught Me Everything

A seven-day detox in the loud silence of a forest

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The cabin wasn’t picturesque. It wasn’t the kind you saw on Pinterest or Tumblr.

The wood holding it together was grey and scarred. The windows were fogged with time. The porch tilted just enough to make you nervous. It smelled faintly of mildew and old woodsmoke.

In the absence of humanity, the forest was squatting inside.

When I arrived that fresh Spring afternoon, the wind was sharp. It howled and bit with gentle ferocity, loud enough to drown out all of my anxiety for a brief moment. That silence was what I’d come for, though I found it immensely difficult to admit that my life had become so unmanageable that I needed total solitude as a way to detox.

My life had unravelled in slow motion over months, maybe years, until one day, I snapped. I needed to be alone. I needed to know what came next for me.

I told no one where I was going. I also didn’t tell them how long I would be away. My silence was not out of spite but because elaborating felt exhausting. “I need to clear my mind” seemed more annoying than staying quiet.

So I packed light. A duffel bag. Some instant coffee. A couple of books. A carton of…