“Trust me, this house looks great online,” Rob says before turning up the car radio. It’s a country station, and Rob hums to a song he never heard before.

The highway connecting Georgia and Western North Carolina has incredible views of the Blue Ridge Mountains, along with billboards that put to rest any question about the locals’ feelings toward the second amendment.

This road is the Rodeo Drive for gun lovers, and businesses have jumped on the theme. Like the one I just passed, realtors dressed like 007 gripping pistols. “Licensed To Sell,” it read.

Across the street, another realtor in a snazzy pantsuit promotes her attributes, “Hunter, Wife, Realtor.” Annie Oakley certainly adds a level of suspense to her open houses.

Next is a pharmacy advertisement designed for the multitaskers in all of us; a picture of a prescription bottle with “Drug and Gun, Refills and Reloads” scribbled above it.

Although these are quick to get my attention, I enjoy the smaller signs stuck in the grass—the kind a person might use to alert a yard sale. One store planted a dozen “Gun, Ammo, Gun, Ammo” hand-painted signs along the highway. I repeat them quickly, sounding like a gangster rapper.

There is one notable profession not advertising along this highway: lawyers. Surprising, because they wrote the playbook on cheesy billboards. Like “Need a DUI Attorney? Call 1-888-GET-SLOSHED.” Or “Injured? Call the Sledgehammer.” I’d love to toss my hat into the mix at their next marketing meeting. “Shot Your Hunting Buddy in the Ass? Call 1-800-Im-LosingMyHouse.”

Rob is oblivious to these billboards, only excited to find Dunkin’ Donuts, a treat we haven’t had for fourteen years. I can live another fourteen without eating a Boston Kreme, but Rob is already turning into the parking lot. Some things are a reminder of a life we had so long ago. Strange and familiar at the same time. He asks for a large coffee, which is the size of a mop bucket. He then orders enough donuts to fill a pizza-sized cardboard box. Everything seems bigger here than in Costa Rica. And if we’re not careful, so will Rob and I be in a few months.

I know little about firearms, as you can tell from me calling it a pistol in the 007 billboard. We owned a gun in Costa Rica, and I still can’t tell you the model. It had a black handle, and the pointing thing was silver. It went pew pew when shot.

I fade out whenever anyone discusses them. The same way when my accountant explains a new tax code. These facts fly on a carrier pigeon from my brain destined for someone who cares about changes to depreciation rates.

Growing up in New Jersey, firearms never came up in conversations. But it’s clear I better learn a few things if I’m assimilating to mountain life. I must be a chameleon. Their pigmented cells change color depending on light, temperature, or mood. If cold, they darken to absorb more sunlight. When frisky, a male turns purple to attract the hottie ignoring him on an adjacent branch. I’ll need a color that stops me from saying anything stupid, which is bound to happen since saying stupid things has been a trademark of my life here on earth. (Razzmatazz—a reddish-pink, similar to rose but with a smidgen more magenta.)

“Hey, look, a turkey!” Rob says as it waddles in front of the car.

Pine trees tower on either side of the street. Their branches reach across, forming a green tunnel one might see in a Disney movie. If I were in a good mood, the story would be happy with singing princesses and talking bunny rabbits. But I’m depressed and anxious and hungry, wondering if I should eat that Boston Kreme in the back seat. An explosive bout of Irritable Bowel Syndrome seems appropriate right about now.

What am I doing here? How did Rob convince me to buy a house in the backwoods? Rob shuts off the radio and starts the How Great It’s Going to Be speech.

“Wow, I bet we see deer.”

“Smell that fresh air.”

“Nice and shady. You always complained about the heat at the beach.”

“Simple livin’. Can’t beat it.”

Can’t beat it? I want to beat the optimism right out of him.

The sky brightens as the road bends, landing us on the shores of Nantahala Lake. Cumulus clouds reflect off the surface, and fish—the size of raccoons—jump from the water like dolphins. We pull over and walk to the edge. The water is so clear we see straight to the bottom.

The surrounding mountains explain why I felt my ears pop. We are standing at 3200 feet, which is about the altitude of the house we rented in Grecia, Costa Rica. That house was where I saw a kinkajou for the first time and where I experienced the magic of living in the woods.

The morning fog spirals vertically from the forest like campfires, and I take a deep breath, noting a shift in my mood. I feel pretty good. It must be the altitude. Maybe it’s the smell of powdered sugar coming from Rob’s t-shirt.

A kingfisher dives into the lake but returns empty-handed, shaking his plumed head and scattering droplets of water around us. I hear a sound to my right. A brown bunny rabbit jumps from a bush, shaking her fluffy tail and perking her ears as if waiting for a response from me. I approach, but she zig-zags away.

While standing alongside this lake, my brain flips a switch—I imagine a life here. One that zig-zags me into the woods, fly-fishing, and moving away from the hustle and bustle of life. A fairytale involving bunny rabbits and songs in the forest. A handsome prince, promising me that everything will be okay.

Happiness rides on neuro pathways. Some people have more extensive networks than others, and can refill and reload a good mood with ease. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are out of luck. I was sad once and became happy in Costa Rica. It took leaving everything behind to begin a new adventure. And during that move, I realized that when you’re unhappy and can’t escape its grasp, it’s best to go search for it.

But happiness will never throw a ticker-tape parade or shoot fireworks over your head. It’s subtle, only a graceful feeling in a strange place. When the air you breathe expands your chest like a hot-air balloon, lifting you on your tippy-toes, and seeing everything from a different perspective. And if you pay attention, happiness will bring along her sidekick, curiosity. He’s never subtle. He’s loud, courageous, and horseback rides on steep mountain passes. He’s the gatekeeper right before something incredible happens. You can’t get anywhere fun without him. And he finally showed up for me, appearing in this foggy forest, miles away from the place I thought would be my forever home.

“Things happen gradually, then suddenly,” said Hemingway. I’m gradually falling for this lake, but I don’t want it to be a fling. I want a monogamous relationship of mutual respect. The kind where he opens the car door and gives me his jacket when I’m cold. If I do fall in love with this place, I want it to love me back. I don’t want my heart broken.

And that’s a lot to ask from a lake in the woods.

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