Van Life Is Not What I Thought It Would Be

We were screwed. The engine of our van wouldn’t start and we were meant to be leaving town. Today.

This was our chance to adventure except we never made it out of the driveway.

Here’s what happened.

My partner and I had been planning for months. We ran out the lease on our apartment and decided to hit the road. We wanted to try our hand at being digital nomads. I was going to write a book. She was going to code. We had a van and his name was Ralph. Literally everything we owned was inside. On the day of departure, we packed ourselves in. I turned the key in the engine, the lights came on across the dashboard and the car clicked. Then nothing. One cylinder stuttered but the rest would not speak. I revved it, hoping. But it wouldn’t start. We were stuck in the driveway.

Then there was a knock on the window and the neighbour had heard our cacophony. He was nice enough to tell us that we flooded the engine. He could smell it on the air. Unburnt fuel was coming out of the exhaust. Then with a smile that meant he wanted to help but didn’t know how, he left us to our plight. 
 

It is hard not to read into these things

Was this a sign that we weren’t meant to leave the city?

I am not mechanically minded but this ordeal has taught me about spark plugs. As if theoretical knowledge could help alleviate the stress that permeated through our brains. Apparently, with an internal combustion engine, there is an insulated plug that screws into a cylinder head. When the key is turned, the plug should deliver a spark that ignites the air and fuel in the combustion chamber. Then the engine should start. But if it cannot perform this function, then the spark travels back to towards the earth and dissipates. But it wasn’t the spark plugs that were broken.

It was the head gasket. There were exhaust fumes in the cooling system. The van was toast. It was now nothing but a metal hull that housed our lives. It’s almost funny how quickly adventure can turn into reality. With one simple turn of a key, we were screwed.
 
It would be an expensive fix. Too expensive. More expensive than the cost of the van. Before this, we had been operating from a sense of excitement, hope and risk management. About a month ago, the engine had overheated and under the advice of mechanics, we replaced the radiator and a few other parts, including a knock sensor that had disintegrated into dust. We had carefully balanced the cost of the repairs against the risk that more things might be wrong with it. It was an act of faith, infused with what we thought was solid advice — fix the vehicle that had carried us this far. After these repairs, everything seemed fine. It drove like a dream.

In a burst of enthusiasm for the future, we decided to build out the back of the van. We hired some help from my partner’s cousin. Then with plywood and know how, we had a new home. It was beautiful. We decided to celebrate by driving out to the coast. We found a cute spot by the ocean and we parked up. We cooked sausages on the gas stove and sat on our camping chairs and watched the night blossom with stars. Later, we tucked up in bed and opened the skylight and everything felt perfect.
 
But perhaps, one starry night was all we deserved. It was all our limited funds were capable of achieving. Perhaps that perfect night was enough.
 
I have spent so many years of my life trying to insulate myself from this feeling of fear. Everything in my body says turn back, turn around, find another home. Do not leave the safety of the city. This happened yesterday and here I am today, talking about it. I honestly don’t know what we are going to do.
 
Perhaps, the only way out is through. Perhaps, this sense of overwhelm will pass. Perhaps, the stress will fade and I will be able to think clearly about our options. This is a lesson about persistence and resilience.
 
I have been thinking about how many things must be working, for anything to work at all. I don’t know why I never realized but I am interconnected with the engines that carry me. I loved Ralph the van and now I must let go.

It’s amazing how defeated I feel to admit that van life is harder than I thought it would be. 
 
Perhaps, I need to let my pride die, if I am going to fall into a safety net.

I need to trust that those nets are there at all.

I just need a good night’s sleep to find my commitment to adventure.

Talk soon,
Harley.