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3000 Days

That’s a long time.

Three thousand days of wandering, wondering, and occasionally arguing with squirrels. And here I am—alone in the wilderness, chasing… what exactly? Inner peace? Enlightenment? A decent cup of coffee?

Maybe wolves. Yeah, probably wolves.

Once upon a time, my world flipped upside down in a single day. Poof—everything familiar gone. I still miss the brandy bubbling in the cauldron, the crackle of firewood, the good kind of silence between two people who get each other. I miss lighting a cigarette just to look cool (didn’t work) and staring into eyes that felt like home. Her hands—warm, steady, creating beauty like it was no big deal. That kind of magic sticks with you.

But you know what else sticks? Pine needles. And learning how to talk to trees when you haven’t seen another human in a week. (They’re surprisingly good listeners.)

Out here, things are different—but not bad. The silence? It’s kind of golden. The wolves? Loud, opinionated, and weirdly comforting. My inner voice? Finally louder than my phone notifications.

The forest speaks. The wolves howl. And me? I’ve stopped running. I just sit, listen, and occasionally dance badly under the moonlight.

Because 3000 days in, I’ve realized: peace isn’t always quiet. Sometimes, it’s a little weird, a little wild, and exactly where you’re meant to be.