I'm Still In The Van

I may seem domesticated, at ease in our hyper-connected world of apps and busy motorways, but in my heart I’m still in the van.

In the middle of a forest or next to a hypnotic river, parked off a dirt road.

I enjoy indoor plumbing, feel safe behind the locked door of my apartment—

But not a day passes where I don’t recall following highways new to me, the only sound the wind through the tree tops or a raven croaking nearby.

Yes, I am here, in a city…but part of me is on a lonely road, looking for a place to camp for the night.

Someone posted on a “van life” forum about missing their van—

I had to respond because I understand.

Even after two and a half years back in the stick and brick world I long for those weeks and months of moving at the pace of the natural world—

Depending on the sun to keep my fridge running.

Striking bargains with the wind not to rip the solar panels off the roof of my van.

It wasn’t always an easy life, but it was a free life.

I like having a home base, enjoy having a flush toilet and electricity—

This 600 square foot apartment is too big, though.

Six hundred square feet “too big”---seven years ago I would have laughed at that...

But it is.

"Sleep in a minivan? Are you nuts?"

Actually, it’s incredibly cozy and safe feeling; a little nest made in Japan.

Seven years ago I didn’t notice the frenetic pace of modern life, it was all I knew.

Once I adjusted to living in my Honda Odyssey I could see this modern life from the outside—

As people honked and passed me abruptly the times I dared dip a toe back into “civilization.”

After two and a half years of being back people still honk and pass me abruptly—

I still drive like I’m on some two lane road in the middle of nowhere; the somewhere I wish I was on a daily basis.

On a lonely asphalt road faded light gray from the sun, the yellow line broken up and nearly white.

How many roads like that did I explore? Can I even count that high?

To a casual observer, I may seem domesticated:

With my full time job, apartment in a large complex, and regular grocery store.

No longer defecating in a hole in the ground, no longer getting my water from a plastic cube.

Appearances are misleading, even deceiving.

My time on the road changed me, permanently altered the way I look at the world.

Car horns startle me, the pace of modern life stresses me out even more than it did seven years ago.

I am always focusing on trees and birds as a distraction from the hectic cars and advertisements.

I am not comfortable here unless I am in my apartment with its quiet order and familiar items.

Often, I find myself opening the closet to look at the 12 volt fridge and the lithium battery that powered it.

The solar panels I would lash to the roof of the van to keep the battery charged.

Someday, I will set them up in another van and return home.