I’ve been living in my Sprinter Van for a little over a year now, and during that time I continue to be surprised by the little joys of living in a van, the ones I didn’t expect when I moved in. I expected the freedom and the flexibility and the beautiful scenery, but I didn’t expect the pure joy of a nice parking space or the giddy feeling I get when the wind blows through the curtains on my open door.
I’m also continuously surprised by the bittersweet sorrows and just general inconveniences of living in a van. Not the ones you expect like getting woken up by the cops at 2 am, or the troubles of finding a bathroom. It’s a unique irritation when your pee jar breaks and you have to find another one ASAP, or when a cat jumps on your roof at 6 am and scares the crap out of you.
I wanted to compile a list of hidden gems of both varieties that speak to me as a unique van living experience, the positive and the negative.
Joy: That 5 seconds right after you wake up where you forget where you are, and you could be anywhere.
Sorrow: Knowing that you have to empty your gray water tanks before you wash dishes and not having a place to dump them out.
Joy: When the van is perfectly clean.
Sorrow: When the van is a huge mess.
Joy: Having exactly 2 forks, 2 spoons, 2 bowls and 2 mugs.
Sorrow: Having exactly 2 forks, 2 spoons, 2 bowls and 2 mugs.
Joy: Having new friends sit on your floor, your countertop, your swivel chairs, the bed and share road stories into the night while waiting out the desert rain.
Sorrow: Sweeping away the dust from the boots of the people you shared an adventure with, knowing you might not see them again.
Joy: Sharing a cup of coffee with a stranger on the side of the road.
Sorrow: Running out of propane at the worst possible time.
Joy: The smell of campfire smoke lingering on your clothes even after you’re 200 miles away.
Sorrow: Changing your bedsheets.
Joy: Nice notes people leave you on your dashboard.
Sorrow: Finding mold. Anywhere.
Joy: Sitting on the roof and watching the sunrise.
Sorrow: The baking heat waking you up in the summer.
Joy: Setting cruise control at 70 with an open highway in front of you, music blasting, and mountains in the distance.
Sorrow: Hugging a travel companion goodbye for the last time.
Joy: Finding out the wifi connects if you park close enough to the coffee shop.
Sorrow: The sound of someone banging on your door at 2 am.
Joy: The feeling of the warm summer breeze passing through your windows.
Sorrow: Parking tickets.
Joy: Gaining a new appreciation for a hot shower.
Sorrow: Seeing the fuel light turn on when you are miles away from a gas station.
Joy: The feeling of soft blankets bunched around you while it rains outside.
Sorrow: Finding a leak in your roof.
Joy: Afternoon naps with the doors open.
There are things about living in a van that will always be challenging, no Instagram filter can change that. But the hidden moments of joy I find in having a space that is exactly the right size for me are precious. They aren’t always as obvious as the scenic views and the freedom of the road, and I think we should take more time to acknowledge the little moments, good and bad.
I’m lying on my back, staring up at the light filtering its way to me through the leaves of an oak tree. Dust motes, illuminated by the afternoon sun, float like dancers through the air.
It’s hot today. The sun has been baking The Valley floor all day, but my spot under this tree, lying on a crash pad is peaceful and cool.