2018 was the year I decided I’d live in a van someday. I caught that bug and I caught it so hard. I spent hours on YouTube conversion videos, I made a plan, had a mission, and all I lacked was funds. It was actually going to be a ministry thing. I thought that if I made a mission out of travel and asked for donations to visit shelters or community kitchens, I’d be able to visit all 50 states within a year. I’d make video content to show people what their money was going toward (allowing 1 day for editing per week), volunteer for 3 days, explore for 2, and travel to the next state the next day. I still think this would be a cool thing to do, but I’m thinking it probably won’t happen. What did happen for me, though, was living in a van in 2022-2023.
This probably comes as a huge shocker, but living in a vehicle isn’t quite like the sprinter van videos on YouTube. The difference between the concept of a bed on wheels and the actual vibe of it can’t be overstated. If you want a real idea of what it’s like, rather than visiting Trent and Allie’s social media feed or TikTok skoolie couples’ pages, check out the “nomads helping nomads network” and “cheap van life” Facebook pages. There you can see real people struggling, and you can see the actual reason that most people live in vehicles. You can see people’s homes being stolen, stranded, stuck, and breaking down. It becomes a display less of people thriving and living their lives to the fullest and more of people simply surviving.
My experience wasn’t a huge struggle, thankfully. I enjoyed every night being an adventure, but I definitely didn’t travel as much as I thought I would. Turns out you still have to make money if you’re going to keep the lights on. And to keep the lights on in a van, you need gas. My carbon footprint may rival Taylor Swift at this point with how much I ran my van to keep warm.
The most difficult parts of the van life for me included staying warm, mechanical issues, eating, where to park, and most of all loneliness. You’d think that a mobile home would increase your social life with new communities, more excuses to visit friends, and a cool story to tell. Quite the opposite, though. My main place to park in Denver was scary. Doing some research showed me that if you need help with something in a parking lot with other van lifers, it’s best to ask anyone else. It’s important to remember that a majority of the people that live in vehicles don’t have a choice, and therefore will do anything they can to protect themselves.
"Going home" after work was such a surreal experience every day. I’d end my shift, hop into the back of the van, and just…sit there for a while. Going home to a place is something I didn’t realize was such a desire of mine. And when home is something you’re required to move it’s disorienting.
I don’t have anything deep to say or any kind of lesson to push here, I just want to say that while it was so fun and I’m glad I did it, living in a van wasn’t a social-media-like experience. I think I did it for the wrong reasons (just to do it) and didn’t have a practical travel goal or set myself up to have absolutely no roots. Maybe if I cut all ties with friends it would have gone better, but I had so much more of Denver to explore. Maybe if I had about 50,000 more dollars it would’ve been a more comfortable experience.
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