After one year on the road as a fulltime nomad, I have decided to “quit.” As I wrote at the outset of this journey, I did not know how long I would continue van life when I started my trip, and I wasn’t holding myself to anything. I made the decision to retire early last year, and one of my top goals was to not hold myself to things – to let things come and develop as they would.
This summer was very tough for me, spiritually. I was figuratively “wandering in the desert” in my mind, plagued by a feeling of uncertainty about my future. I debated continuing van life for at least another year. I debated many things. I even debated going back to my career and working again. Maybe I would have been happy with any of those decisions. I am firm believer that one makes one’s own happiness where one is. Continuing work would mean more money. Continuing van life would mean more freedom and travel… albeit in a very uncertain world right now. I can tell you that I miss the desert. I miss the smell and the sights. I miss the people. I want freedom more than I want the money I could get from work right now, but I want security more than the freedom I could get from the road right now.
Van life was glorious for me all through the winter. Then the temperatures started rising in the desert in the spring, just as the COVID stuff was happening. I knew I needed to move to a cooler area, and I had had plans to go to Alaska for the summer, but I decided against it and hadn’t yet decided where I wanted to go. This would be a mild conundrum under normal circumstances, but the confusing responses to COVID were ramping up, too, and I just didn’t know where to go. Nowhere felt safe or right. I made the difficult decision to retire early last year because I was tired of pressure on my shoulders. And here I was, feeling the pressure big time, and I did not like it.
I decided to hang out with friends in the Midwest for a while to escape the desert heat and the issues surrounding COVID, and I enjoyed that while it lasted, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. I knew I’d have to be back in New England at some point this year – if for nothing else than to register the vehicle, deal with health insurance matters, etc. I needed to see family, and I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to go home, as I have many older relatives, and it wasn’t (and isn’t) clear how this COVID stuff works exactly.
The uncertain atmosphere in the country, combined with the uncertainty regarding my own immediate future, led to an overwhelming desire to have my own place -- where I can’t be kicked out, where I don’t need permission to stay any length of time, and where I don’t have to follow anyone’s rules.
I started this van life journey willingly a year ago. I was not forced into it by circumstances, although I was attracted to the low-cost lifestyle. I was especially attracted to the mobility and freedom. I opted to try van life, and I enjoyed the experience immensely. As a sort of long vacation, there’s nothing else I would have rather done with the past year. I will never forget the time spent in the desert Southwest or the beautiful things I saw.
I decided to buy a little home in Western Mass, where I have deep roots. I have been living here for a month now. My rig is in the process of being sold. I had originally thought that I would keep it even after I settled down, but now that I’m in a S&B home, I feel that I can’t justify the rig just sitting around in my yard. Even if I took it on trips every year, it would just slowly fall apart over time and depreciate in value. Someone else can enjoy it now, and I can profit from it while it’s still in good shape and worth something.
I am settling in here, and as much as I miss the desert, I am also enjoying my current life. I haven’t lived this close to family in a long time, as school and career kept me out of this area for many years. And the truth is that I am enjoying the little things I missed in van life. I suppose I am trying to make my own happiness where I am, just as I did on the road. I found happiness that brought me to tears in a hot cup of tea on a cold morning on BLM land in the desert. I have found similar happiness in the steaming hot water deluging from the bathtub spout here. Happiness is a state of mind.
All this may sound like a “goodbye,” but I don’t think it is. I definitely feel retired now after a year of not working and with no plans to work again in the future, but I know I am still young in many people’s eyes, and I don’t know what the future holds. I’ve changed my mind in the past, and who’s to say that I won’t end up on the road again in the future?
This summer was very tough for me, spiritually. I was figuratively “wandering in the desert” in my mind, plagued by a feeling of uncertainty about my future. I debated continuing van life for at least another year. I debated many things. I even debated going back to my career and working again. Maybe I would have been happy with any of those decisions. I am firm believer that one makes one’s own happiness where one is. Continuing work would mean more money. Continuing van life would mean more freedom and travel… albeit in a very uncertain world right now. I can tell you that I miss the desert. I miss the smell and the sights. I miss the people. I want freedom more than I want the money I could get from work right now, but I want security more than the freedom I could get from the road right now.
Van life was glorious for me all through the winter. Then the temperatures started rising in the desert in the spring, just as the COVID stuff was happening. I knew I needed to move to a cooler area, and I had had plans to go to Alaska for the summer, but I decided against it and hadn’t yet decided where I wanted to go. This would be a mild conundrum under normal circumstances, but the confusing responses to COVID were ramping up, too, and I just didn’t know where to go. Nowhere felt safe or right. I made the difficult decision to retire early last year because I was tired of pressure on my shoulders. And here I was, feeling the pressure big time, and I did not like it.
I decided to hang out with friends in the Midwest for a while to escape the desert heat and the issues surrounding COVID, and I enjoyed that while it lasted, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. I knew I’d have to be back in New England at some point this year – if for nothing else than to register the vehicle, deal with health insurance matters, etc. I needed to see family, and I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to go home, as I have many older relatives, and it wasn’t (and isn’t) clear how this COVID stuff works exactly.
The uncertain atmosphere in the country, combined with the uncertainty regarding my own immediate future, led to an overwhelming desire to have my own place -- where I can’t be kicked out, where I don’t need permission to stay any length of time, and where I don’t have to follow anyone’s rules.
I started this van life journey willingly a year ago. I was not forced into it by circumstances, although I was attracted to the low-cost lifestyle. I was especially attracted to the mobility and freedom. I opted to try van life, and I enjoyed the experience immensely. As a sort of long vacation, there’s nothing else I would have rather done with the past year. I will never forget the time spent in the desert Southwest or the beautiful things I saw.
I decided to buy a little home in Western Mass, where I have deep roots. I have been living here for a month now. My rig is in the process of being sold. I had originally thought that I would keep it even after I settled down, but now that I’m in a S&B home, I feel that I can’t justify the rig just sitting around in my yard. Even if I took it on trips every year, it would just slowly fall apart over time and depreciate in value. Someone else can enjoy it now, and I can profit from it while it’s still in good shape and worth something.
I am settling in here, and as much as I miss the desert, I am also enjoying my current life. I haven’t lived this close to family in a long time, as school and career kept me out of this area for many years. And the truth is that I am enjoying the little things I missed in van life. I suppose I am trying to make my own happiness where I am, just as I did on the road. I found happiness that brought me to tears in a hot cup of tea on a cold morning on BLM land in the desert. I have found similar happiness in the steaming hot water deluging from the bathtub spout here. Happiness is a state of mind.
All this may sound like a “goodbye,” but I don’t think it is. I definitely feel retired now after a year of not working and with no plans to work again in the future, but I know I am still young in many people’s eyes, and I don’t know what the future holds. I’ve changed my mind in the past, and who’s to say that I won’t end up on the road again in the future?