What Living in a Van is Really Like

Van living

It’s going to suck.

There will be some nights when you sleep in a parking lot of a hospital because residential camping is frowned upon.

Well-meaning cops will tap on your door as you try to watch a quiet movie on the iPad without showing light through the window curtains, almost as embarrassed as you are.

You will have to pee in suburban home bushes while unsuccessfully aiming away from your shoes.

You’ll wake up in a sweaty and furious fog when the shade you parked under mysteriously moved.

You will try to live off the 5 dollar- pallet of chalky ramen you enthusiastically purchased, but will spend a lot of nights in a bar or cafe spending $15 on a cheeseburger plate for the “free” wifi.

You will wonder if anyone notices your lack of hygiene.

You will stare longingly into lighted living rooms at night, remembering how warm four walls can feel.

Do it anyway.

I spent my birthday passing a bota box of wine between two friends in the seats of our sandy van parked in the neighborhoods of San Diego, laughing at our cheap purple mouths later on when we danced at the reggae bar.

We hit the road shortly after.

Wet wipe showers, baby powder, and a “new”

Thrifted rompers do wonders for a girl’s self esteem after a sandy run around on the beaches all day. Or a misty hike through ancient northern trees.

In this west-coast world of contoured faces, fit tea, and eyelash extensions, it feels damn good to rock up with day 3-hair and a Chaco tan on your naked toes in any new city.

When we set out on our road journey with just a small savings and a loose plan of two months, I never imagined how much I would gain ( and lose for that matter).

These are stories that remain my own. Remain between the pages of memories and gratitude.

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