(This is Chapter Two in my “Thoughts on Van Life” series of posts, in which I discuss that every upside of van living carries a defined downside. Check out Chapter One if you haven’t already).
UPSIDE AND DOWNSIDE: LIVING MOST OF YOUR LIFE OUTDOORS
Upside— You spend more time outdoors than ever before
A study I read once said Americans spend over 90% of our lives indoors. This was really striking— and to me, admittedly, it shook me a bit.
I wanted not to live amongst— but truly IN— the beautiful outdoors. And while many of us say that we ‘love’ the outdoors, for most of us, that might mean dayhiking, backpacking, or camping a handful of weekends over a couple of months per year. Despite such a professed love of the outdoors, we just don’t spend all that much time out there in modern American life.
Living in the van, on the other hand— unless you want 19-feet of living space to be all you have, you are forced outdoors.
Most hours of most days, the van doors and windows are wide open to let in the light and a cross-breeze (vans get really stuffy when stationary otherwise). And when I wake up in the morning to let my dog outside, I’m stepping out there into whatever weather decided to roll in overnight. And I’m going to spend a good chunk of my day out there, no matter what is waiting for me when I open that door at 6:30 AM.
In many ways, this is really lovely. The fresh air and the open sky greet you first-thing, and stay with you all day, meaning you watch and feel the micro-adjustments of the sun in the sky and smell every pine in the area as the sun bakes the branches.
Especially when it’s SUNNY and WARM, this is bliss— I’m able to bask in the sunshine most days of the year, chasing ‘Endless Summer’ in my van, finding temperatures in the 70s in January south of the border in Mexico, then keeping those temps in the 70s in February in Arizona, then moving in March in Texas or California or Louisiana, and so on— to stay within a truly comfortable band of temperatures as the weather shifts.
This ‘endless summer’ journey is a lovely benefit of living on wheels. People sometimes ask me ‘how’d you get your tan?’ — and I respond, “I live outside”— because I do.
But in other ways, living outdoors can be really exposing. The equivalent for those of you living in homes or apartments would be waking up in the early morning and opening every single window and door in your space to the elements— it would probably be very chilly except on the warmest days. And it might not feel super-cozy to keep piling on the layers and still lose feeling in your fingers first-thing in the morning (even where it’s warm later in the day).
Sitting outside in the open air is just lovely on beautiful days, and can be pretty miserable on windy, rainy, or cold days— which is why at least for me, van life has kept me firmly South in the winter, and Northern-bound in the spring and summer.
In van living, the comfort level you have is directly related to the weather at any given moment, which can change wildly and quickly. Needless to say, that can really mess up your day.
I’ve accidentally driven into snowstorms (just a few hours from the desert lowlands) when I forgot to check the elevation gain on the drive.
I’ve arrived to a campsite after a 10-hour slog of driving, and set up my chair outside to rest, before immediately being driven indoors as a hard rainstorm blustered through moments later.
I’ve driven to campsites seized by dust and windstorms, and ridden out the night in 30-50 MPH winds that have shaken the van hard enough to make it difficult to sleep.
I’ve worked for several days on reliable wifi, only to have a lightning storm disrupt my calls and force me to pull up stakes for the nearest city in order to be able to continue to do my job.
If stationary, you might clock the weather report on the news, or check an app to see what clothing to arrange into an outfit, but for van lifers, weather apps dictate our days. Alerts letting us know that rain will begin in 20 minutes will ping through just in time to get a foldable work desk put completely away before the deluge.
The winds can shift at any time, the rains can come at any time, the heat can be unbearable out of nowhere, the humidity can stifle breath— and living truly outdoors— you feel it all.
In the nice, new van I live in, I’m lucky and privileged to have a metal roof over my head, a heater to turn on, and doors to close if there is nasty turns in the weather.
But the weather is still my boss.
Downside— Living outdoors means living mostly-exposed to others, constantly
Cortisol is a stress hormone, and my goodness, that is on a constant hum when you are living so publicly. With a van only offering semi-private space, it’s hard to shake the subconscious feeling of being exposed to the gaze of others all the time.
You have your doors and windows open to the public, to the weather, to the world, nearly every second of every day until you close up for bedtime.
This stressor is something your body can put in the background as time goes on— but until I am fully in an enclosed and private space like an AirBNB or a friend’s home— my body is never fully at-rest.
When in these private, enclosed spaces, I shed a low level of fear and anxiety that had occupied a part of my brain and heart constantly, and needless to say— that tight feeling of always-alertness doesn’t feel awesome in the cumulative. I am sure that I added some grey hairs in my time in the van on account of this.
It’s almost imperceptible when you are living in a van every day, but it’s real: private interior space that locks you away from the world is the best ‘rest’ your nervous system can get.When in these private, enclosed spaces, I shed a low level of fear and anxiety that had occupied a part of my brain and heart constantly, and needless to say— that tight feeling of always-alertness doesn’t feel awesome in the cumulative. I am sure that I added some grey hairs in my time in the van on account of this.
At campsites, a stranger will always wander over to talk with you.
At gas stations, the conspicuous image of the van means unwanted attention from looky-loos.
At night, I am always looking over my shoulder when parking to ensure the area is safe.
Park rangers come by regularly to confirm the camping rules are being observed.
There’s no real privacy for eating meals, which are likely to be cooked and eaten outside.
Just trying to park the van on the street to get takeout can lead to people poking their heads out to investigate!
And even when I am firmly inside the van, if the doors and windows are open, that means part of my brain is still aware of the sights and sounds outside my vehicle.
It sounds paranoid, but it’s not— it’s just awareness of constantly being OBSERVED, which is a low-level stressor that takes up space in my brain.
Being totally unobserved is a luxury, and one I will never take for granted again.
Posted by Sun
