When we talk about van life, it usually conjures up imagery of some luxurious van that some couple bought sitting on a beach while they play in the sun. It’s the ultimate “I live on vacation” fantasy. No need to work, just travel. The simple life is at your finger tips. But what if I tell you that while yes, these people exist, that also isn’t always what it means to “live the van life”? What if I told you its choosing homelessness in an effort to skirt around unstable housing?
Maybe that doesn’t sit well with you. Maybe you are a van lifer and you feel like that couldn’t be farther from the truth. That may be true for you, but I’m here now to talk about my experience and why van life seems like the most viable option for me and my housing situation.
First of all, I have to say that homelessness is an extremely complex issue. Everyone’s experiences behind being homeless and how they got to that point are very individual. That includes my own. Looking at me, with my job of 7 years followed by 4 years, no drug use, no alcohol abuse, and a stable family situation you may wonder how I could possibly have ever found myself homeless. Sure, I get it. But that’s because homelessness doesn’t depend on a stable job. It doesn’t depend on using drugs and alcohol. It doesn’t even depend on mental health. The only thing it fully relies on, is being without housing.
Homelessness Then
I’ve been there 3 times in my life. I’ve been fortunate enough to never have had to sleep on the streets. I’ve been fortunate enough that my aunt, my friend, and another friend put me up for a little while, but each time it became not only progressively more difficult to find support but progressively more scary. You see, in my particular situation, I couldn’t afford to live by myself. The discrepancy between housing costs and wages is outrageous, and I was caught in the middle. I also struggled to find people who I could live with. Whether it was pets, timing, room, or lifestyle it has always been a challenge.
I could’ve moved back in with my parents in a heartbeat, no questions asked. The consequences of that decision were no small challenge. I faced quitting my job and my career, dropping out of university, and abandoning all the hard work it took to get there. Is all that worth having a place to sleep at night? Those are the questions you find yourself asking when you’re being faced with unstable housing.
As the minutes, hours, and days ticked by approaching the moment when I would officially not have a place to call home, I began drafting plans of action. The three most important things: 1) shower 2) get to work 3) care for pets
As long as I had a car, number 2 was easily doable. Put belongings in storage except for the necessities and sleep with a roof over your head. Make it to work. Make money. Having a dog was complicated, but having a cat even more so. That meant being mere feet away from a litterbox at all times. Or I could give my pets to my parents to take care of for awhile. Even if I couldn’t live with my friends, I could always shower at their homes. Without the cost of internet, rent, gas, and electric I could easily afford to pay a friend a hundred bucks to use there shower a few times a week. I’d even be saving money!
That’s the narrative. That’s how it was all three times. Living in my car started to look like a good idea because then at least I wouldn’t feel stressed by the thought of trying to find housing. I could at least have the illusion of control in my life. I’m choosing to live in my car so that I can save money I’d tell myself. I could always afford food because I had fewer bills! Luckily, unlike many who experience homelessness, I never had to sleep in my car or on the sidewalk or on a park bench. Thankfully, my friends and family were there to help me out without making me get rid of my beloved pets.
and Now
It’s years later now, and my housing situation is stable. I live in a place I cannot only afford but easily afford. For the first time in my life, I know what that feels like. You might wonder why I’d put all of it in jeopardy to jump in a van and take off, putting myself right back in the same situation. If you haven’t already, read this post about the work I’ve put in to make sure this is a “fool proof” plan.
The difference is that now that I own LuLu, even though she is far from finished, I will always have a place to sleep. This experience is taking the uncertainty of homelessness, the fear of succumbing to destitution, and the worries of not knowing if you’ll have a place to sleep or not out of the equation.
This was not a journey I set out on in hopes of luxuriously traveling while not having to work. I will absolutely be working a normal, full time job. My budget did not include $50,000 to spend on an already converted van. I don’t even have thousands of dollars to give someone to make custom cabinetry for me. I’m doing it all myself. Even so, I could have a bed by morning and my van set up to live if I needed to leave right away.
I know that this is not where I want to live forever, so my home is going to be everywhere for awhile. I’m not going to give in to the housing market dictating that a starter home is hundreds of thousands of dollars. I refuse believe that its rent, own, or the streets. Van living isn’t a cure for homelessness. It isn’t even a great band-aid. I also acknowledge how absolutely fortunate I am to have been able to purchase a van in the first place. But as long as I have my van, I have a home. And as long as I have a home, I can never be homeless again.
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