I found it online several years ago, when searching for a vacation cabin.  A tiny studio far from town, nestled in the forest with a view of mountains.  It didn't meet our needs for a family reunion, but it looked like the perfect setting for a retreat.  And it was. 

I had been running too fast and scattering energy among too many priorities for too long.  When the opportunity came for time arose, I remembered the cabin.  Reserving the place was easy; getting there a little more challenging.  After a thousand miles of highway travel, the final Sunday night climb up a winding gravel road through falling snow only enhanced the relief of getting there.  It was warm.  And beautiful.  And quiet.  And remote.

Reflections into a book.  Bits and pieces of random progress were stuffed in my tote bag, crying out for concentrated and sustained effort.  The experiment worked so well that I am eager to share the lessons I learned.  They all had to do with creating a simple life, even for a few precious days.

The first morning, I shopped for food.   Grateful for the local natural food store, I stocked up on simple ingredients and prepared dishes that could be mixed and matched in moments at a time.  I emphasized a diversity of food groups but embraced repetition from day to day.  As a result, I wasted little time figuring out what to eat.  Oatmeal and applesauce.  Hummus, raw veggies, pita, and an energy bar.  Stir fried veggies, tofu, and rice.  Cold cereal, berries, and almond milk.  Repeat.

I followed helpful guidelines for social contact and entertainment as well.  E-mail and Facebook twice a day.  Answer only urgent e-mails.  No status updates.  Phone calls only for critical family ties. I did not try to figure out the satellite dish, but listened to calm meditation radio when silence called for a change.

I got up long before sunrise, and began writing.  In addition to stopping for simple meals, I emerged from my nest each afternoon for a run, a hike, or a drive. When I came back, I took a nap.  Then I went back to writing until bedtime.

When I drove down the mountain the following Sunday morning the sun shone, the snow had melted, and the road had dried.  My tote bag contained a printed first draft, tidy in its new 3-ring binder. 

Three weeks later, I am working to incorporate the lessons I learned at The Writer's Nest into everyday life.  I want to simplify food choice and preparation, manage the balance between stimulation and focus, and to break up periods of effort with exploration, activity, and rest.  Whenever I remember how good it felt to practice these patterns in a less complicated setting, I treasure the spirit of a writer's retreat and hope to carry it with me wherever I go. 

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What is your experience with gaining perspective by going away, then bringing it home to enrich the rest of your life?