Cabin Notes: romance and intuition

June 18, 2025

Ah the insatiable urge to do the wrong thing first. Ben is on baby duty, and so it is my work day, and thank goodness because I have this newsletter, the book proposal, a client white paper, another client scope of work, edits to a reported piece, a secret project!, and therapy. (Oh, and lest I forget my promises, the novel.)

But then, what else lay around the house but cloth diapers in the laundry, the baby’s clothes scattered about his room, a yet-to-be-wrapped birthday gift just left out for the recipient’s wandering eyes, not to mention litter boxes to be cleaned, animals to be fed, heaps of my own clothes to be put away. On top of this pile of shoulds are also the coulds:

I could start weeding the front path.
I could start putting together the building list for the front patio.
I could put away these clean dishes.
I could sit outside with my coffee and one of the many overdue library books I have and ignore all that needs to be doing in favor of what needs relaxing: me.

All these tabs, all this mess, all these needs.

But that’s life, huh? I was reading an essay this week where the person said they were careful not to romanticize their life, and it struck me as incongruous. I read that person’s work because I find their life romantic, because the hardships that writer refuses to paint with a romantic lens are inherently romantic, to me and to many others.

I’ve been mulling this sentiment over, and I think I’m falling on the other side of the fence. I want to romanticize my life because if I don’t, I think I lose sight of how beautiful it is, how abundant, how safe, how joyful, how supported. Also, because I think the hardships are worth it.

As I’ve been looking for more work recently, I’ve been in touch with a few people that I haven’t spoken to a couple years. Most of them ask a variation of the same question:

Are you still liking mountain life?

Are you still liking the pot holes? The shoveling? The wood chopping? Are you still liking the cold wind whipping through the house? The old pipes? The bears? Are you still liking wolves scouting your valley for territory? The thin air? The distance to the airport?

Yes. Unequivocally, yes.

Another resident passed around a petition the other day, requesting that the county take better care of our road. The county is already planning to regrade the road a few weeks from now in July. They are short-staffed, and there are many dirt roads in this county that get used as regularly if not more than ours. I eyed the petition. I actually didn’t want to ask this of the county. You could argue I prefer when the road is in bad shape because it forces people to slow down and pay attention.

But that is something I cannot force people into wanting.

What I can do is this: I can tell the baby we’re seafaring, and yo ho little one, these waves are rocking the boat, hold tight while the storm passes. I can drive so slowly I notice the marmots wrestling in the high grass just ten feet off the roadside. I can leave early to give myself enough time to get there, but more time to listen to podcasts and books and music.

I can turn potholes to plot points and washboard to wishes. I can romanticize the worst so I can see more clearly the best, and I think I’ll be better for it.