Zen and the Art of Van Life

Kara and I are finally on the road, and out of Houston. Out of Texas, too... and that felt like a big step.

Since we started this, back in May 2020, we’ve been full-time in a travel trailer and now a van, but the furthest we’d gone until now was Kerrville, Texas. It was beautiful in the Texas Hill Country, and far enough from where we started that it gave us a minute to breathe and get used to the idea. But it was still Texas—and that meant it still felt like being close to shore. 

Going back to Houston was similar. We had to do it—there were things we needed to take care of. Doctor’s appointments, storage units, family time... the reasons were stacked. And that last one, family time, was really the most important. It was a little like taking in gulps of air before you go into the deep end of the pool. We are so close to our family, and depend on them so much, we wanted to make sure we had that time with them before we left for the next few months.

So the Houston layover was necessary and wonderful. It also gave us the chance to give the van a proper shakedown, get things set up exactly as we wanted and needed, move things in and out between the van and storage. It was adjustment time, and it helped a lot. We got used to living in the van while sticking close to our comfort zone—help being just a hop away. 

But once we had things worked out, we couldn’t wait for roll-out day to get here. And when it came, we were ready. Maybe a little nervous... but ready.

This morning, the second morning on our journey away from Houston, represents our first morning outside of Texas. We’ve found ourselves in an RV park on the Mississippi River, in Memphis. It’s a bit more rustic than places we’ve stayed to date, and that’s taking a little bit of adjustment. It’s showing us how to depend on the amenities we bring with us, rather than those provided by an RV resort. 

We’re starting to see what works, what doesn’t, what can be done and should not be done. Day two, and we’re already picking up on lessons.

The thing is, as I’m sitting here surrounded by trees and green, the Mississippi off to my left, the sights, sounds, and smells of campground life all around me, I’m realizing just how worth it all this is. Tight quarters, occasional tiffs with the spouse, bugs and heat and humidity, aching backs from long drives... a little discomfort here and there, just to remind us that things aren’t perfect and breezy all the time, when it comes to #VanLife. But then there’s... something. Something that’s a little tough to articulate. But I’m going to try.

There’s a minute. A moment. A breath. A pause in everything, at which point I do nothing but observe and experience. And then...

This morning I was thinking about patience. I’m a praying sort of fellow, so I prayed, “God, what would it take for me to learn more patience?” And God wasted no time in answering me. I got a scratch on my eye, I got into a little tiff with Kara over nothing, I stepped out of the van to high humidity and bugs out for a nibble, and I sat in a spot where the sun has decided to linger, making seeing my laptop with my scratched eye all the more challenging. 

And here comes that pause... here comes that moment... here’ comes that presence. 

It’s the moment I look up and see that the sun that’s making my screen hard to see is also making the trees across the way glow green and inviting. It’s the moment when I see an ant crawl across my laptop and I try to gently blow it off, so I don’t harm it, and the little guy clings and curls up and holds on, showing me how determined and powerful even the smallest life can be. It’s the instant when I sip my coffee and listen to my music and hear the sounds of birds and feel the breeze, I prop my feet up on the little foot stool, and I do this work I love—writing and crafting stories—work I absolutely love doing, so much so that I’ll do it even on a lazy Sunday, with the Mississippi off to my left and a forest off to my right. 

It’s the moment when I recognize that the “negative” parts of the journey are still a part of the journey, and it’s the parts I focus on that define my experience. It’s the interpretation of the events that defines my mood. It’s the acceptance of what is, and the choice to let it be with no judgement from me, that opens the door to joy, moment by moment. 

Presence is a principle tenant of Zen. And Zen, for those who may think of it as froo-froo-woo-woo, is an ancient and quite respectable practice of choosing your response to each moment with care, rather than choosing to deal with the consequences and fallout that follow simply reacting. 

Choose how you respond, rather than allow your mood and experience to be dictated by a default reaction. 

Take nothing that happens as a personal slight, but be personal in your response.

Be present in the moment, rather than lamenting, resentful that the moment isn’t what you’d prefer it to be. 

Be here and now (present and aware) rather than shouldering the burden of the past (regret and resentment) or projecting yourself into the future (worry and anxiety).

Van Life has been a wonderful tool for encouraging a Zen practice in my own life. 

I’m learning to live with fewer possessions. 

I’m learning to be aware of my immediate environment and the impact I have on it, both in terms of the physical environment and in terms of my relationships, with strangers and with Kara and even with our little dog, Mini.

I’m learning to leave as small footprint as possible wherever we go—considering what we use and how we use it, how to get more out of what we must use, and how to use less.

I’m learning to think  of consumerism in terms of our actual needs rather than our wants. 

I’m learning to spend time on what is important, rather than letting the unimportant run the show.

I’m learning to slow down, to be attentive, to be observant, to learn from what I see and hear and experience, rather than simply passing through it, unchanged. 

I’m learning to complain less.

I’m learning to care more. 

There are a lot of lessons ahead, on this journey. I won’t be able to anticipate them all. But here we are, only a month in on van life, three months in on full-time RV life, and I’ve already learned a lifetime of wisdom from the experience. It’s already changing me. 

I’m excited about what’s to come, and what it will teach us. I’m encouraged by the people we’ve met so far on this journey, and the experiences we’ve had. Here we are, in the middle of a pandemic, and reminded of death and misery and injustice and division with every news broadcast and every social media post, and yet I feel like we are living in complete freedom for the first time in our lives. 

It has less to do with the “van” part of van life than it has to do with the “life” part. 

No matter what the world looks like, no matter what it appears to be, life is right here with you. 

It’s you who chooses. You who can either respond or react.

You don’t need the road to live. Your journey is a path you make yourself, with your choices and your own innate, honored wisdom. 

See you out there.