Lessons from Van Living: Part I

The morning light appears rose-like through the tinted windows. I stretch and take a moment to linger in the pocket of warmth under the down blanket, feeling the softness of a jersey cotton sheet and folded eggcrate foam beneath me, further cushioning the paco pad and plywood bedframe. My companion is already gazing outside, her ears alert and eyes scanning the woods for a hint of the scents she may discover, residues of the raucous nightlife in these parts. She’s patient, to a point.

Adding pullover and leggings, both placed strategically so as to be warmed by my own body heat overnight, I roll back the van door and step into the open. 

Exhale. 

You know the feeling of brushing your teeth when camping? Stepping outside seems to be a whole-body version of this on chilly mornings. 

Refreshing. Awakening. Cleansing.

I begin my morning routine, part Ayurveda-inspired steps of tongue scraping, oil pulling (swishing oil in my mouth), etc. while heating water and setting out my girl’s food. I move slowly and rhythmically, I feel the sun coming over the ridge. I read Rilke. I write a bit. I practice meditation, practice is the most important word there. 

I do all of this outside. 

And it is quiet. 

No music or news, no talking or traffic. But this quiet is still filled with life amidst the movements of the woods. Birds, breezes, and the imperceptible breath of the trees. 

Sure, the whole vanlife thing is super sexy because of the tricked out tiny homes on wheels, the creativity, minimalism, so much about the vans themselves are appealing. 

But it is this, the immediacy of connection with the natural world, that has affected me most. 

And the more time I spend living this way, the more I crave it and notice the impact on my body and mind. And the evidence is so soft and subtle it escapes being pinned down or pointed at concretely. So I’ll share what I have noticed:

The last time I expeditioned in the wilderness was in July, working as a therapist with a family as we canoed the Missouri river in Montana. One morning I woke and before I left my tent it hit me…. Despite working and being “on” 24/7 as a therapist in the field, my body felt at ease, expansive, at rest, and I knew it was because of the consecutive days of living outside. I knew this not in my mind, but in my internal knowing: my intuition. And in a flash I saw snapshots of the many mornings having awoken in my van in the past year and a half, and I knew it was healing me. This immediacy, this immersion… it was an answer to the calling of the natural world, to the open spaces, to the quiet, to the place where I can best hear, 

and love, 

and lose, 

myself. 

And you don’t have to live in a van to explore this for yourself. I have been experimenting with getting outside as early as possible in the morning, journal or book in hand, perhaps to connect with someone on the phone, or watch my dog run, or sit in meditation. There are any number of ways this can look, but I am doing it regardless of weather, bundling in the cold and being out for even ten minutes is a different tone set for my day.

I wonder the many ways this can look for people living in urban, suburban, campus, communal, chaotic family, or even brutally cold environments?