There is a fog, a mist, a heavy down blanket that has taken up residence in our mountains. It has filled all of the valleys, wrapped itself around our houses, and seeped into our thoughts. I can no longer see the village from my window, just as I can no longer see the looming spring in Ohio...I wonder about what is happening in both of these places when I stare into this blank white wall. It is the manifestation of the isolation I sometimes feel living in this place. I know I am alone here, that was my intention. The highs are incredibly high and the lows some of the lowest I've felt in this life. All because I am alone. I have achieved a goal and learned a new language and I know that I've done it on my own. There is support somewhere across the ocean, I know, but I have figured this all out on my own and am the one who has had to stumble, fall, pull myself up, and start climbing again. I am the one who looks at my hands at the end of the day, the hands that are now burned and cut, the hands that may spend the rest of their existances perfumed with onions and garlic. My feet that ache and split from the dry mountain air, and my hair that hasn't been cut in almost a year, because it just isn't a priority. And I know that this is the sacrafice for this adventure. And there is no high higher than knowing I have done this all on my own. But the same goes for the lows. I am all alone in this adventure. And I remember this all as I stare into the opaque cloud that shuts me off from the world. I remember I am alone, and I wonder what it is inside of me that forces me into these places. What drives me to chosen exile, to incredible distance, to seek a life where the unusual is the familiar? And above all, why do I do it alone?