When you live in an RV for a year, you learn how to make a really good s’mores.
You also learn how to pick a good campsite, how to waterproof everything you own, and how to cook a complete meal over an open flame.
You learn what it feels like and sounds like to walk on real ground.
You learn you can be comfortable even if your feet are dirty or your clothes don’t match, but also that you can get perfectly clean and presentable with surprisingly few supplies.
You learn that it’s easy to forget what you look like in beautiful surroundings.
You learn to be entertained by games with names like “famous last words” and “guess who said this.”
You learn to pass time sitting quietly listening to nothing but the sounds trees make in the wind or in the fire.
You learn to set your day by the light instead of the clock.
And then you move into a city and you forget much of what you’ve learned. The pull of community and the pulse of society teaches you new things so quickly that you don’t even notice what you’re unlearning.
Two years fly by and you can’t imagine an entire night spent sitting in the dark or that you could fall asleep without the hum of traffic outside your window.
Until you go back to the woods.
Then, you remember what you learned that one time when you were having a grand adventure.
And you think – you hope – that some things can never be forgotten. Some things, maybe, just stay in the woods, waiting for you to come back and remember.