I set my bags down on the threshold and breathed in deeply.
This was my home, only mine, for the entire month of June.
Realizing my lifelong dream of being an actual published author of a work of fiction had been a dizzying whirl of deadlines, promotional tactics, emails, and a swiftly filling social calendar. In the wake of all this, I had decided to take a portion of my earnings to run away.
I needed time to let this all sink in, to appreciate this life goal being met, to get my bearings for the next idea. I wasn't even planning to do any writing, I just needed space. To remember who I was.
And so, here I was, suspended by a bridge to my very own treehouse villa, rented for a full month. No family or friends allowed.
I smiled to myself, and stepped through the door.