I remember sitting in a circle of my peers during our final class together, announcing post-graduation plans and aspirations. I was in a teaching program at the Evergreen State College, so naturally many of my classmates were going on to get their masters in education. When my turn to speak rolled around, I proudly stated that I was going to move into the van that my best friend and I had refurbished and set sail on a new adventure. My announcement was met with pitying stares and silence, which truly did surprise me. I was so ecstatic about my plans that I didn’t even consider what others might think. I had spent many afternoons hanging out in that gutted, plywood walled, glorious piece of broke down machinery. A primary green 1978 Ford Econoline dream machine; my first home on the road and my first taste of freedom. I loved it. I spent a total of three years as a van dweller, two with my bestie and one on my own. During that time I scraped by working odd jobs for friends and new acquaintances. I even spent a few months in Mexico selling bread for seven pesos a piece in the town plaza. I learned how to get by on very little, and to rely on the kindness of others when needed. During this time I was also introduced to the camping, car dwelling, backpacking, and bicycling counter culture that sneaks beneath the radar of every state in this country. My circle of friends quickly grew as I realized we all knew each other in some small way, because of some random connection. I began to value myself in a whole new way; to strip my identity of everything I once knew and see myself in a new light. I was not a proactive student, working part time, attending extra study sessions and planning for my post graduate career. I was free to be me. I could lie all day under the trees if I wanted, listening to music and watching the clouds float by. And it wasn’t always easy. I was faced with parts of myself that were so easy to ignore when my schedule was filled with morning to night activities. I often felt, and sometimes still do, that I chose the more difficult path. Much of my struggle came from within, as I was faced with learning self-acceptance where I never knew it lacked. The simple reality of not having a shower was so foreign to me that at first, I hardly felt like myself. I bowed my head in shame when my hair was greasy enough to give off that fresh out of the shower look. I quickly learned a few hacks, like washing my bangs in a large bowl and pulling the rest of my hair back.
A few months into our journey my friend and I decided to venture through Nevada. We spent a few weeks playing in the dirt and testing out our camp stove skills before heading into the bright lights of Las Vegas. I remember feeling really concerned about my hair and desperate for a solution, so I picked up some of that aerosol shampoo on our way into the city. That perfumey white powder stuck to the grease like dog hair on pants; I was mortified. Fresh out of a snow globe and bound for the one place where anyone can pretend to have money for a week. After a bit of lamenting I threw on my cowboy hat and made the best of it. We each had a ten dollar spending limit and the goal of finding an affordable buffet, which was no problem at all. We were even invited to sleep in the semi-truck parking lot of the Aladdin after setting off their security alarm in the guest parking garage.
Hair. Seems like such a silly, superficial thing to get hung up on, but lord did I. Over time I slowly released myself from the vanity of needing to always look a certain way. It felt good. I did what I could with what I had and continued on living. And when I think back to the most traumatic appearance related melt downs, there is always something funny about them.
As time went on every aspect of van dwelling became second nature to me. What felt so uncomfortable at first quickly evolved into a sense of fulfillment and liberation. I was experiencing life in a whole new way and I wanted to find a way to share that with my family. I wanted my parents to know that my education was not being wasted, that I was merely adding to it. This was a difficult task. I think my mom always felt like I was choosing homelessness over success; that I was wasting precious time that could have been spent preparing for a career, a family, a future. At first I visited often, never missing a holiday tradition. When I arrived, I wanted desperately to divulge all the tales of my travel. I wanted to tell them about Eddie B, a 70 year old farmer from Kentucky who quickly became my good friend. I wanted them to hear about the sleepless nights spent desperately trying to get warm, and when I finally did, realizing I had to pee. I had opened up my heart to so much pain, beauty and love. I was raw and unrestrained, an emotional heap of self-awareness just waiting to unload. When I did unload, the response was far from what I expected. Don’t get me wrong, each member of my family has always loved and supported me in their own way. Despite what any of them really felt about my choices, they always welcomed me home with open arms. I simply had to accept the reality that moving against the current and choosing an alternative lifestyle didn’t win my parents any brag awards with their friends. I understood. But because I didn’t want my life to become a series of justifications and empty promises, I chose to visit less often.
Over the years my relationship with the fam has changed dramatically. I can’t really say for sure, but perhaps it is simply the passing of time that has brought us closer together. Maybe I have ceased seeing them as sources of validation and approval and grown up to view them as independent beings, as people, as friends. And certainly we have all experienced and accepted in one another the transformation and growth that is so inherently part of being alive.
Time quickly passes; an ineffable truth that inspires me to continue living without regret. I work as little as possible and play as much as I can. And while my van dwelling days have long since passed, my wandering soul continues to guide me. If I feel fulfilled at the end of each day, then I know I did the right thing. Perhaps I will find myself working my dream job; five, ten, twenty years from now. I will stand proudly and confidently as a teacher with my students, knowing in my heart that I chose the only path that could have led me there. And I’ll have Frank Sinatra to thank for reminding me that I did it my way.
mohawkpony 