Everything is Going to be All Right

Why I'm going off the grid and not the deep end

A while back My Guy and I decided to take a break from a world that had gotten too fierce and frenzied for us. A 24/7 news cycle with pundits interested in fomenting anxiety because that’s how they got clicks and stayed in business, jobs that demanded focus, to-do lists that were too long…

we were desperate to escape.

Four months living off the grid at our little cabin in the woods. That was the plan. Living off the grid would restore balance to lives that had gotten a little off-kilter.

If this sounds like your version of hell, you may want to stop reading right now. 

And, I’ll admit that I wasn’t altogether sure I wanted to step away. I could survive the threat of cougars and bears, but could I live without the internet? Without weekly happy hours and walks with friends? No television, restaurants, online shopping, or Wordle. Was I really ready to give all that up?

 Visions of a wide-eyed Jack Nicholson in The Shining, unraveling with every keystroke as he furiously typed away, swirled through my head. I wasn’t taking bets on which one of us would play the lead role in our own crazed movie. 

First, let me be clear. Living off the grid did not mean we didn’t have indoor plumbing. A tip of the cast iron skillet to the Pioneer Women who manage, but count me out of any situation requiring me to make do with only an outhouse. We also had the modern conveniences of a propane water heater, fridge, and stove. So, not really roughing it all. 

Except:

For four months if we wanted to be warm we had to diligently chop wood and build a fire. One of us had to get up in the middle of the night and feed the hungry beast. Is there anything more romantic than a man who will pad through the cold and dark recesses of the world at midnight to keep a fire going for his Beloved? I think not.

The nearest grocery store, laundromat, and coffee shop were an hour over a windy, mountain road that we came to know not so much by the mile markers, but by its shock absorber destroying potholes. 

Although we’d recently gotten cellphone service in the area, it required walking 200 yards to what we affectionately called, “The Magic Rock.” A lovely and enviable spot to catch up with folks back in town if the weather was nice. More often though, I held my phone in one hand and an umbrella in the other as I huddled under a Douglas Fir not wide enough to protect me from the pelting rain. My daughter would chatter about her busy life as a single woman in New York City life and my teeth would chatter in response. Finally, I’d shiver so hard  I’d have to hang up.

Except for the occasional porch sit with our friends Brad and Rose, the only other folks crazy enough to live off the grid, My Guy and I rarely saw other people.

It’s true, Dear Reader, that the simplest of living takes a certain amount of bravery. 

But as the world has seemed to tilt off its axis these past few weeks, I’ve thought about those months at the cabin. They were not so much an escape from reality as a retreat, which Webster defines as a place of privacy or safety; a period of withdrawal for prayer, meditation, or study. Yes. That is what it was for us. 

It was a time of intentionality when stripped of the “busyness” that marked our lives back in the city, we could choose what we’d add back in. It wasn’t much. 

On those rare occasions when I wanted to connect to the outside world, I’d drive half an hour to a one-room library. Stocked with books, computers, and a couple of comfy chairs placed in front of a picture window, I could look out upon a cow pasture and some distant tree hills while catching up on emails. Most of the time I was alone, letting myself in with my library card, which unlocked the door. Sometimes I’d run into Jean, a sturdy woman whose gray hair was cut in a no-nonsense pixie, and who lived alone on 10 acres and grew enough raspberries and blueberries to enjoy year-round on her morning yogurt. We bonded over our love of Louise Penny novels, but never enough that she’d share her berries with me.

Small things became big things that MG and I learned to savor in a way that we never had the time for at home. The full moon, the first chanterelles, and visitors who made the trek up to see us – all were occasions to be celebrated rather than obligations to fulfill.

Candles graced our table at mealtime because…well because no electricity, but also because we loved the warm cast of their glow. Our wood stove was our physical and emotional alter, the place where we’d gather every evening to read or talk. And without others to pull us away – we did talk….long heartfelt conversations about how we wanted to shape our future.

Walks through the soft pine needle paths of the surrounding forest or along the river that wound its way to our lake gently reminded me of how large and magnificent – how resilient – the world outside my own purview was. These mountains would stand, the trees continue to grow, and the river run. In those moments of discernment, I chose gratitude over anxiety. 

Retreat: a place of safety, a period of withdrawal for meditation. Once again, I’m finding that I need to retreat from the churn and chatter inside my head and in the world at large. I need to gain a sense of balance. We’re heading off the grid again. By the time you read this, My Guy and I will be in the mountains far away from the internet and cell phone service. 

I hope that standing at the base of a mountain – one that has stood for eons – rather than in the center of an anxious vortex of something I have no control over will soothe and calm me.

When I do get anxious there is always poetry…

Everything Is Going to Be All Right by Derek Mahon

How should I not be glad to contemplate

the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window

and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?

There will be dying, there will be dying,

but there is no need to go into that.

The poems flow from the hand unbidden

and the hidden source is the watchful heart.

The sun rises in spite of everything

and the far cities are beautiful and bright.

I lie here in a riot of sunlight

watching the day break and the clouds flying.

Everything is going to be all right.