Alone had never felt so lonely. With my nose pressed to the glass, I watched the world continue to rotate for everyone but me. My axis had been tilted. My momentum blocked.

In the distance, where the ocean turned from blue to black, surfers bobbed, belly-down, on their boards, waiting for the perfect wave. What drove them to get up with the sun, pull on a rubber suit, and paddle into the ocean? Was it the thrill of catching the wave, or the sense of accomplishment when they did?

To my left a young woman jogged in a pair of pink pants that fit her like a second skin. I didn’t know her, but I knew her story. She had a beautiful boyfriend that valued her looks more than her character. The poor thing probably ate a walnut a day and jogged five miles to burn it off. She spent three hours a week at the salon maintaining her looks and waited at home every night hoping her man would call.

I backed away from the window and slipped into my desk chair. Any other day, I’d open a folder and look through a handful of images sent as a courtesy by Dad’s production manager. By the time the pictures made it to me there was no need for decisions. My opinion wasn’t desired or required. I’d glimpse at the artwork chosen for promotional materials and collect my check. Somehow the simple action justified my six-figure salary. A salary I’d no longer receive.

This morning’s conversation with my parents’ played on repeat in my head. Dad suggested a stint in the Peace Corps, but mom nixed that idea with one word—malaria.

Somehow, in the next three months, I was supposed to find my bliss. If I didn’t, I’d be relegated to a life of poverty.

“You can be miserable poor,” my mother said. Without a plan, my life would go from penthouses and Pinot Grigio, to duplexes and generic soda.

If the overall deadline wasn’t enough, I had twenty-four hours to deliver an outline of my plan to my parents’ lawyer. He would decide if it met the three R requirements—a place to prove I was responsible and resourceful and resilient. The fact that I haven’t curled up into a fetal position was proof I met the final criteria. Half of my friends would have crawled under their twelve hundred, thread-count sheets and stayed.

My initial thought was to give myself an Eat, Pray, Love experience, but there was a luggage weight restriction, and I wouldn’t have enough room for Pop-Tarts and clothes. Italy sounded nice, but India and Indonesia were out. I wasn’t a fan of curry or sweat.

The words you have to leave it all behind popped into my head, and I knew as long as I lived in my little cocoon of comfort I’d never grow as a person. The stagnation of my existence would cripple my life. I needed to exit my safe zone. I needed a change. I needed an intervention.

I opened my computer and typed the following words into the search engine.

Getting away from it all.

Two full pages contained travel agents and fantasy itineraries, but somewhere in the middle of the third page, a heading caught my eye.

Live an authentic life, live off the grid.

Without a second thought, I opened the link to a page of full color photos. A quaint little cabin sat between a crystal clear pond and the forest. A deer watched her fawn at the edge of the trees. Wild flowers bloomed across an open field.

Excitement pulsed through my body like triple espresso running through my veins.

The property was for rent. It sounded ideal. Situated between Marathon and Big Bend National Park. One bedroom. Self-contained. Off the beaten path. Picturesque. Perfect. Powered by clean energy. That sounded responsible, a key word in my new life.

I sent an inquiry to the website right away, so I didn’t chicken out and then waited and waited and waited. After an hour of staring at my screen, I left it all behind to shower and start my day.

Another hour passed, and I was back at the screen, looking at my bank statement. This wasn’t going to be free, and I wasn’t going to ask my parents’ for money. That would only prove I wasn’t resourceful. I owned two things outright, this apartment and my car. One of them had to be sold, and it wasn’t going to be my home. When I returned, I’d need a place to live. Bye bye, Audi.

* * *

Three hours later, I’d sold my car to a Polyester Pete—the kind of guy with a fake smile, a Hawaiian shirt, and a comb-over.

Max was going to have an aneurysm. As an investment banker, he was all about making smart money decisions. I could hear him telling me how selling my car for less than its value wasn’t financially responsible, but I had to sacrifice some things to make others work.

I walked straight off the Audi lot, crossed the street onto the Jeep lot, where I purchased my new, used car.

Another email check came up empty—nothing about the property. Despite my lack of a solid strategy, I was filled with drive and determination. Something in my gut told me everything would work out. My path was clear—my destination unknown.

* * *

I woke with the sun and raced to my computer to check my inbox. I had three new messages. The first was spam. The second was from my friend Rachel telling me about a shoe sale at Neiman Marcus. The last message was from someone named Colton.

Nik,

The property is still available. The rent is $650 a month, but I’ll reduce it by $100 if you’re willing to pitch in on planting and harvesting a summer garden. Let me know if you’re interested.

Colton

Reality hit me like a head on collision. Everything was about to change. I was going to Texas where my life would take on bigger meaning. And it made sense because everything was bigger in Texas. I wasted no time and replied to the e-mail.

Colton,

I’m looking forward to getting away from it all. Tell me how to get there and where to send the rent. I’m in. I’m happy to help with the garden. However, I have no prior skills

Nik

I pressed send and waited in anticipation for his reply. Within minutes, I heard the beep of an incoming message. Holy housekeepers, I was set. Attached to the email was a map, a list of recommended supplies, and a PayPal address for payment.

The next message I sent was the equivalent of a business plan to Todd McGavitt, my parent’s lawyer. All details were covered including an outline of the three Rs.

Responsible–I was not asking my parents to fund the trip.

Resourceful–I would be putting myself on a budget. Planting a garden and living off the land for three months.

Resilient–I’d be living away from my normal vices and experiencing new things.

Max was going to have a coronary. Hell, my heart pounded so hard I wasn’t sure I wasn’t in the middle an attack myself. Picking up my phone, I sent him a quick text message.

“Can you come over tonight?”

Within seconds he replied, “Sure, what’s up?”

“I made some plans, and I need support, or a straight jacket. I’ll buy dinner. Seven?” My finger hovered over the send button for seconds before I pressed it.

His reply was immediate. “I want Chinese.”

My nails clicked across the keys. “You always want Chinese.” Max was no different from most men—motivated by food or sex. “I’ll get your favorite egg rolls and some pork fried rice.”

“Shit, if I’m getting egg rolls and fried rice, this has to be bad.”

* * *

Like clockwork, Max showed up at exactly seven o’clock. The food from Wing Dynasty arrived. I loved the orange chicken. Max loved the Peking duck. We sat at the dining room table and devoured our dinners while I described my new path.

“What the hell? That’s the boonies? Have you ever been camping?”

“Well, no, but this isn’t camping, It’s more like … glamping, you know … glamorous camping. No tent. No bonfire. I’ll be staying in a cabin that has everything.” I exaggerated for his benefit or maybe it was for mine. After all, the place didn’t have heated floors, a jetted tub, or housekeeping.

Max stared at the table where I had left the email I printed out. “What does off the grid mean?”

I pulled the page toward me and sat up straight. “I had to look that up myself. It means the house is self-sustained. Living one with nature and all that.” I plucked a bite of chicken from my plate and sucked off the honey glaze.

“How is this supposed to help you?”

I wanted to shrug, but that would only prove I didn’t know what the hell I was getting myself into, so I sat taller and spoke with gusto. “I’m going to prove I can take care of myself. I’ll cook and clean and plant a garden. I’m going to figure out what I’m made of even if it kills me.”

“It might kill you, Nik.” He rolled his eyes so far back his pupils disappeared. “As for what you’re made of, I believe you’re half silicone and half Pop Tart.” His shoulders shook with his laughter.

“I’m more. I know it. You know it. I have to make sure my parents know it.”

“How far is this place from civilization?”

“I’m not sure, but from the map he sent, my guess would be about an hour or less.”

“How are you going to survive being an hour from a Java Bean, or a nail salon?” Max glanced down at my French manicure. “Who’s going to color your roots or tighten your extensions?”

I twirled a length of hair around my finger. Not many men could recite the monthly maintenance requirements of a woman, but Max was the best anatomically incorrect girlfriend I’d ever had. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. Surely there’ll be a salon in Marathon.”

Max pulled out his phone. His fingers scuttled over the screen. “Marathon, Texas has a population of four hundred and thirty, divided equally between men and women.”

“See? That means at least two hundred of them have hair and nails. Problem solved.” I stood feeling victorious.

Max followed me into the kitchen with his empty plate in his hand. “Nik, you’re being impulsive? Take some time and mull it over.”

I filled up the sink with hot water and bubbles. The dishes could wait for the housekeeper to arrive tomorrow. “Max, I can’t tell you why, but I know this is the right decision for me. Besides, if I had waited, the property might have been rented. This is the place. This is the time.” Max wouldn’t like it, but I was about to toss his words back. “I can no longer be a spectator in my life.” I turned and walked back to the living room and the hug of the soft cushions of my couch.

Max didn’t sit next to me. Instead, he sat of the hard wood of the coffee table, bent over, hands steepled under his chin. “So you’re moving to Texas. It’s big and worth the extra egg rolls, but where does the fried rice fit in.” His baby browns pinned me with long silent scrutiny.

Uncertainty took residence in my heart. Had I made the wrong choice? The point was, I made a choice, and I’d have to live with it. “I sold my Audi and bought a used Jeep today. It’s black with gray leather interior.” I tried to bury the fact I’d sold my car with excitement about the color and accessories. Any other day it might have worked, but not today.

“You sold your car?” His voice was loud enough to cause a hearing impairment. “Didn’t your parents give it to you for your birthday?” He lowered his hands and gripped his knees turning his knuckles white. “Tell me you got a fair price for it.”

“I got what I wanted for it.” It was difficult to sit here and justify every action. “I bought the Jeep, paid my rent in advance, and put what was left of the money in a separate checking account.” Max gave me a raised brow, thin lipped, no-you-didn’t look, and all I wanted to do was hang a do-not-disturb sign in front of my face. “I’ve created a budget.” That should have had him smiling, but it didn’t. He sat still with his zippered expression in place. “I’m allotting myself what the average person earns as a weekly paycheck. That sounds both responsible and resourceful.”

“Yes, but you need to add an R to your list. What about being reasonable?” He let out a gale force sigh. “You spend that much on a single pair of shoes.”

“That was yesterday. I’m leaving all that behind.” I segued off the topic to one I knew would interest him. “Speaking of leaving it all behind. Can you take care of my apartment?”

“Um. Yeah.” He gave me a like-you-need-to-ask look. “Can I pretend it’s mine and bring my dates here?”

“No need to pretend. Treat it like it’s yours for the next three months.” That might have been the wrong thing to say to him. His taste in clothes was impeccable, but his taste in décor deplorable. There was a strong possibility I’d return to find my impressionist paintings replaced by neon beer signs.

“I don’t know, Nik. I’m not convinced this is the right choice for you.”

“At this point, it’s the only choice.”

He rose from the table. “You’ll stay in touch, right?”

“Yep, I’ll check in often.” I rocked to my feet and walked him to the door.

“I can’t believe you're doing this.”

“I have to, there’s too much to lose.” I was referring to the money, but I had a nagging feeling something bigger was at stake. “Coffee tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Max was my rock, and my closest confidant. I gave him a big hug and watched him disappear into the elevator.

Back at the table, I started a list.

Bookstore - gardening, fishing, outdoor life, photography, cooking, first aid.

Clothes–boots, jeans, sweaters, socks.

Medical supplies–Band-Aids, cold medicine, feminine hygiene, sunscreen.

Grocery items–Pop Tarts, coffee.

It wasn’t a comprehensive list, but it would have to do for now. Heading to my closet, I rummaged through my things. Any outdoorsy items I could find would be resourceful. I set out some jeans, a few long sleeve shirts, a couple pairs of shorts, and some T-shirts. I threw in a couple of sundresses and a jean jacket. Socks, underwear and a pair of flannel pajamas hit the pile next to my bunny slippers.

Looking through my shoes, I had few options. There were tennis shoes and sandals, but all my boots had five-inch heels except for one pair that were a cross between cowgirl and hooker, so the three-inch heels made them a sensible choice.

Perched at the top of the stepladder, I reached for my camera case. It had been sitting on the upper shelf of my closet since graduation. I held it to my chest and caressed the black leather case.

Why had I stopped taking pictures?

Oh that’s right. Mom didn’t see the value in them. We were a moving picture family. The irony was that motion pictures were thousands of stills connected together. Each frame a story in itself, but it held no value to my parents. Funny how my job had been to look at images that didn’t matter to them. A single picture couldn’t capture what they wanted to see.

I’d always loved looking at things through the lens of a camera. It made me take notice of the small things. Beauty was in the small things, and I had forgotten that.

The camera seemed like a good choice, so I packed it and went to bed.