i'll be inside
I think people like us enjoy simple comforts. People who homestead (or people who aspire to) seem happiest when they realize all they need to feel content is a warm place to read with good lighting and an oversized sweater. Throw in something hot to sip and we're beyond set, blissful really. It doesn't matter if we're in midtown Manhattan or a cabin in the woods—that disposition is hardwired in us to relish in such basic activity. The sadistic part about it is we like it so much more if we just walked 13 blocks in driving snow, or chopped wood for 2 hours, or did something equally grueling because such basic rest is so much better when it's deserved. We're a little twisted in that way, old-fashioned even. Us highlanders like our rest when we suffered for it.
But hey, we're not monastic. We still like all the shiny distractions, blockbuster movies, and fast cars the rest of the world gawks at... but generally we can all agree on the merits of forgetting about all that awful business for a snowy night, our guitars, and a good book. For a while we forget iPhones ever existed. It's a nice vacation.
If you need me, I'll be inside.