I’ve been traveling the past several weeks for family and work, and everywhere I went, I took a dedicated carry-on piece of luggage that contained everything I needed to operate my business (and write).
One of the appeals of starting my own business was that I could work flexibly, from any location, at any hour(s) that would accommodate my #1 priority — my family.
So while I was in Cleveland in May, I set up a little workstation at my sister Rachel’s dining room table and worked on Girl In Space and some other projects outside of the hours I spent taking care of my two-year-old niece. Life and work dovetailed. I got a lot done.
I also almost immediately got sick, which is kind of bound to happen when in the presence of a two-year-old (and by “in the presence of”, I mean carrying her around the house screaming like dinosaurs and turning my head at precisely the right time for her to cough directly into my mouth).
When I headed out on my annual-ish hermitage (aka wilderness/writing retreat) a couple days later, I was still sick, so I packed plenty of Mucinex, tea, and cold medicine. I also brought my mobile office with me, along with the hope that with the change of scenery would come… some kind of magical mega-creativity or inspired flash of brilliance.
But, as the saying goes, “Wherever you go, there you are.” My mobile office exists so that I can write wherever I am, regardless of location. It’s both an upside and a downside — being able to write anywhere doesn’t give any particular where any special powers. It doesn’t change who I am or rewire my brain (at least, that I’m aware of), or put extra-smart words into my pen.
It’s always just me, and whatever I bring with me. Sure, the view might be inspiring, the interruptions fewer, the distractions different, but… it’s still just me and my mobile office. And a stubborn, lingering cold. And lots of DayQuil.
When I got back home, several friends asked if I had had a good writing retreat, and I honestly didn’t know how to respond. Had I been productive? Not any more productive than usual. I slept a lot, I read a lot, I listened to some podcasts, and I found myself wandering dizzily through the forest wearing long pants, long sleeves, and a beekeeper-like mosquito-net hat, trying to keep the swarms of Minnesota’s state bird from biting me whilst trying to will myself healthy again.
I sat in my cabin and sipped herbal tea and looked out at the green trees and ferns, silently surrounding my tiny cabin for 360 degrees, green as far as I could see in any direction. I watched the golden sun set through the trees and snuck deep breaths of the pine-scented breeze. I saw squirrels and turtles and iridescent lime-green beetles and a great blue heron and tons of deer.
Did I have a good hermitage? I suppose that would rely on one’s expectations, and one’s definition of “good”. But, I have to ask: is it possible to spend one’s days simply existing in a beautiful green forest, and see that as anything but good?