I just booked a flight to Texas with the sole goal of sleeping in this tipi! Though I have to admit, I’m a little scared. The brochure clearly states that tipis are weather resistant - not weather proof and that rain (should it happen) and critters (including scorpions) can, and often, do get in. So… yeah… that’s fun!
In July of 2022, I came to terms with the fact that being a nomad isn’t actually about the van, yet I hadn’t fully understood what that meant to me. As I sit here once again, buried in snow in NH, it’s becoming all too clear.
When my father died, I was overwhelmed with the idea that he had felt trapped in his life. He was deeply unhappy - yet all the money and power he’d acquired, couldn’t save him. He simply saw no other way out and chose to die by suicide. For better or worse, I feel that lesson has become deeply ingrained in me. (In fact, I’ve moved 8 times in the 6 years since his death.)
After spending a few months in any one place, I find myself climbing the walls. And while I understand that this maybe the roots of a deep-seated psychological problem, (or even unprocessed grief), I’m also not convinced it’s a bad way to go thru life.
American culture is so completely tied to consumerism: Bigger is better. New is sexy. And more is never enough! Yet, even as a kid, I’d watched my dad suffer. To the outside world, he had everything. The beautiful family, large house complete with a cherry paneled library, and a never ending rotation of luxury cars. Professionally he was incredibly successful and well respected in his field. Yet, he wasn’t happy, and even as a child, I knew this.
My mother, on the other hand, was emotionally dead / numb / absent? I’m not even sure how you’d describe her, but in the eyes of her child, she appeared lifeless at the core. A good wife and adequate mother, she went thru the motions with seemingly little joy.
It wasn’t hard to understand that happiness isn’t found in wealth or the acquisition of power and stuff. As a kid, I got that message loud and clear. However it’s taken me years to sort out what exactly that means… and in truth, I’m no where near finished.
I came out of my nuclear family believing that romantic love was the answer. I married my high school sweetheart, quickly had 3 children and sacrificed everything (including my own career and personal potential) for them. It didn’t work.
Then, in 2017, shortly after my fathers death, I’d watched a YouTube video of Bob Wells talking about the freedom of vanlife. Before long, I’d jumped in with both feet. In July of 2017, I closed my yoga studio, sold my 4 bedroom house in Williamsburg, and bought my first real van; a RAM Promaster 136WB built by Michael Williams at Bridge Bound Campers in WVA.
The van was amazing, but life had other plans. Before long, I was back in a one bedroom apartment, quickly followed by another van, then a four bedroom house, another van - and yep, you guessed it a townhouse. In short, this cycle has continued through 8 houses, townhouses and condos…and 5 different vans and RVs… and… yes, I have to admit, it’s is likely to repeat. On the plus side, however, I’ve made money on all of these transactions, (sometimes a lot of money!) so other than the emotional cost, I’m basically coming out ahead.
But I’m also slowly coming to understand more deeply that FREEDOM - not vanlife - is what I’m after. I think back in 2017, I’d never been exposed to anything other than a traditional bricks and sticks life. Raised by my father, I also felt stuck. Yet I had been taught that this is what “good people” do. This is what stable, educated, successful people look like. When Bob Well’s spoke of the freedom of vanlife, it seemed almost too good to be true.
But over the years I’ve watched (and met), so many people who jump into vanlife - particularly those buying RV’s and pretty quickly give it up. Others become obsessed with “mods” (modifications to the van) and spend countless hours (and dollars) decorating / up-fitting their rig. Working on the van becomes more of an obsession than traveling ever was.
When I started to realize that vanlife per se wasn’t quite what I was after, I’m embarrassed to admit, I went the other direction. When my grandson was born in 2020, I bought a condo in NH, thinking I would use the van to travel between my townhouse in Williamsburg and this new place. I’d envisioned long winding sightseeing / camping routes between the two locations. It didn’t work.
More stuff is not the answer. In fact, more stuff is probably never the answer! But of course, I had to try it. I guess I’d assumed that having two completely equipped places would allow me to travel freely between them. In envisioned myself leaving at the drop of a hat - simply walking out the door in the clothes I was wearing. Of course, to make that happen, I had to doubled my stuff. And when my mother’s house sold last summer - I added even more stuff to the mix. Ultimately ending up with a RAM van and 3 forms of houses!
More stuff is not the answer! In fact, more stuff is never the answer! But of course, I had to learn that the hard way.
In retrospect, I’ve come to realize that freedom isn’t free (for anyone). And more importantly that being a nomad, isn’t about the van or even vanlife. In fact, #vanlife is a commitment - and possibly just as much of trap as living in sticks and bricks. Once you buy the van and move in. That’s it - everywhere you go, you’ve got the van - and only the van. Family coming over? Nope. Parking on a city street? Nope. Starting a new hobby, using the drive thru, going to a carwash, attending a bookclub - Nope. Of course there are ways around all of these things, but my point is, #vanlife is also a commitment. It’s a concrete way of engaging in the world.
Finding a place to sleep, finding water, a place to shower, or dump your tanks can become just as time consuming as paying the bills or cutting the grass. Not to mention the endless search for good weather. For those who have the privilege of choice, #vanlife is simply different set of constraints. And quite frankly, it too can become a metaphoric trap.
So where am I now? Apparently headed to Texas to sleep in a tipi!
I definitely think I’m getting close to correctly defining the level and type of freedom I need. But this post is clearly at risk of becoming a novel, so perhaps I’ll save that for another day; providing of course, I survive (and hopefully have a scorpion free night) in the tipi!
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