text: It was a morning like any other when I woke up and realized, “This house means nothing to me.” I wasn’t born into money. I had worked hard for my money. This house was to be the fruit of my labor. It had all the amenities. There were no cold drafts in the winter. It was never too hot in the summer. But even a small house can be too big for one person. So I tore it down. By myself. With a good chunk of my expendable funds, I rented a miniature bulldozer and spent eleven hours obliterating my quaint but shallow abode. It cost me all but what was in my pocket to stay at a cheap motel for the next two weeks while I tirelessly built a log cabin the way my father had. There was no housewarming party when it was complete. The bed is creaky, and there are unseen gaps where the cold air gets in, but I am here to stay.