The Hermit
By Alex Holt
Just over a year ago Thomas had finished University. He had been applying for jobs without much luck and lamenting the fact that even if he were to get one of these, they were not conducive a great mind such as he thought his. He yearned for a simple life, undistracted by the constant buzz of other people being around him. He would sit alone in contemplation, thinking deep great thoughts that would change the face of the world.
And so, it seemed perfectly logical to him when he decided that he would become a hermit.
So Thomas rented a small log cabin in the forest not far from home and absconded there to ponder the great mysteries of the Universe. That was the theory anyway. But just as he tried to gain insight into the cosmos, his Dad would drop by to chat, or his friend Joe kept would drive up in his Honda Civic round crates of beer, which, while very much appreciated, were not very conducive to discerning the great universal truths. He was also fairly sure that no great sages had ever gained cosmic knowledge within earshot of the M6, or had people visiting them in Honda Civic.
Back to the drawing board.
He took some money out his savings, and booked a flight to Nepal. Everyone knew there were all kinds of enlightened monks in forgotten monasteries there right? It turned out that on arrival in Kathmandu he mostly received confused looks. He did finally find a taxi driver who sported an impressive moustache, with a suggestion that sounded to be just what he was looking for. After two vertigo inducing days of tiny roads in the mountains, he arrived in a village that was not even on his cheap map. Nonetheless he rented a small mountain hut from the taxi driver’s uncle, and set in to have deep thoughts. He soon discovered that the only thing worse than a bitterly cold, drafty hut for thinking deep profound thoughts, was a bitterly cold drafty hut that filled up with a flock of goats every night. After a few weeks, Thomas was very sure no one had achieved enlightenment in the presence of goats. Especially ones that ate all your nice clean socks.
Perhaps he wasn’t meant for the cold? Maybe he would be better suited to one of those classic dessert retreats with nothing to accompany him but the dunes and the stars at night. After a return journey across the mountains which induced even more vertigo than the way there somehow, he returned to the airport and booked another flight. He had looked it all up - there were some remote caves out in the dessert that looked perfect for understanding mysteries. So he hired another taxi to get to them, and had the woman drop him off by these caves. She always made it an hour away before she felt too guilty, and returned out of worry to find him slouched up against a rock with dehydration and heatstroke.
Thomas returned back home, defeated. He moved into a small apartment in the city, and got a remote job, set up all his bills to be paid automatically, and got most of his food delivered. He sometimes wistfully wished he’d been able to make it as a hermit
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