Maybe it’s a religion thing. I can’t imagine Sikhs or Jains fantasizing about living alone in a cozy, remote little shack.
But if you’re a Christian—especially a Catholic, even a Vatican II baby like me—it’s easy to catch a contact buzz from tales of heroic hermits and hobbits alike. If there’d been a Julian of Norwich play set—“Anchorite Barbie”!—I would’ve begged for one.
Compound that with my below-average stature, my schizoid temperament, and an only child’s acclimation to catatonic quietude, and it’s inevitable that I caught tiny-cabin fever.