I've Forgotten Water

I’ve forgotten water, where it comes from. I’ve become a “turn on the tap” person; I twist the tap and wait for the magic. When the magic of water comes I don’t think about it, sometimes I catch myself not appreciating it. When I was on the road, you had to think about it—there was no tap, just whatever you were carrying in two four gallon containers. Everyday you’d pick the one up you were using, scrutinize it, how many gallons left? That was boondocking. There was no magic tap out there, no magic ceramic recepticle to carry your bodily waste away. I’ve been living in the city five months now, may as well be five years considering how my habits have changed. I look at the pictures I took out on the road, in the van, was it really four years ago? I feel like I’m looking at pictures of someone else, like I am subconscious recognizing a previous life, and my heart aches a little bit.

I turn a tap. I want something, I get out my laptop and I look on Amazon. Toilet paper or a futon or a book magically arrives in a few days. I flip a switch and a machine makes coffee for me, I cook indoors, no bugs keeping me company—something has been lost. I am out of touch with nature, with the reality of acquiring water, with that fickle friend who can be a frenemy weather: How much charge is left in the Jackery? How much sun do we have today? Should I put the panels up to charge it? Will the wind pick up? Here I have over a dozen outlets, lights in the ceiling. I flick a switch and another sort of magic happens.

I have not spent a night in a vehicle in six months. While my love of my apartment home is deep, I miss just…being in the middle of nowhere. I miss quiet, miss driving to new places, miss all the old places I discovered in several states—

But I love my apartment. I think I appreciate it more than I could have five years ago. The kitchen is small but a lot bigger than the one in the van…and there’s no wind to blow out a gas stove, no bugs trying to join in as you eat a meal. No listening for vehicles, is that friend or foe? This way of living is easy, but it insulates us too much from reality, the reality of what it takes to get decent tap water and how much tap water is left. I try to appreciate it, but reality is behind increasing layers of gauze. I’ve forgotten water, I’ve forgotten a number of things.

After four years it’s weird not having a vehicle to travel in, to live out of if things took a dire turn. I still have a lot of stuff for that life, a water container, the Jackery, bungee cords—bungee cords are a neccesity on the road. But, having a vehicle would be a waste of money: Insurance is expensive here in Portland as is parking. My lease is up in April. Will it be the bums or the weather that drive me from Portland again? Or, will I find myself wanting to stay beyond next Spring? Everything I have I can move on my own. My bed is a roll up futon mattress. My table folds up. There is no couch, no bookcases. I am always ready for the next adventure. You can’t have it all. I have enough books for sale that, theoretically, I could fund my life from writing. Theoretically. But I shut down when trying to do marketing, I read about how people market their books and the ink lines just run together so…I don’t know. The more I think about it, the more I understand that it is the most logical way for me to get money in order to survive.

This week I will come up with a game plan! I’ll find a manager, some social media experts! I will keep everything brand oriented and—

And, and…tumbleweeds.

I have so much I should be doing, too much, really, but I’ve also learned the importance of doing nothing—but doing nothing doesn’t change things.

I remember nine years ago, my first time just roaming, sleeping in the back of a rented Jeep Cherokee. It felt right. Sitting in the Succour Creek campground drinking beer I imagined a homemade camper on the back of a small pickup. I still think about that camper, I’ve designed countless campers in scores of notebooks. I’ve lived the “vehicular nomad” life, demystified it, stripped away all the romance and ideals…and I still dream about it. Maybe I just need a break from the city, or maybe that’s the real me…I am not sure. There will always be a homebase, I have 325 square feet but I could make 250 square feet work. I understand that there will always be some sort of camper, in my notebooks and my heart, at least…for now….