In case you couldn’t tell from my absence, I bailed out on the van life after, oh, two or three weeks. Too ashamed to draw attention to my “failure,” I just stopped posting.

Well, now that I can safely wall “failure” off with scare quotes, I’m back.

Life has taken an ambitious turn for the normal. I’m living in an apartment — with a roommate — and I have a bed, a closet, a bathroom and all of that deliciously mundane crap that makes life so insulated and predictable. I pay rent, take multiple showers a day, drink coffee in the morning, and watch too much TV at night.

In short, I’m doing much better.

I’d love to be able to report that I had an epiphany about the whole renegade van living thing and that’s what turned my life around, but the truth is… I just got fucking sick of it. That last night I spent in the Shari’s parking lot, all my worldly belongings scattered around me on the floor of the van, my head throbbing with migraine — it may not have been rock bottom, but it was pretty close.

Entropy is a bitch, in other words. Maybe if I had made more of an effort to keep things coherent — to stick to a routine, to keep the van organized — maybe then it would have all worked out.

In the end, though, I don’t really care. I like my apartment. I like having wifi. I like my roommate, even. I tried the van life and it wasn’t for me. No harm done. At least I hedged my bets enough that I could easily withdraw from it and go back to something more comfortable.

And why waste time hiding and feeling ashamed? It’s a pseudonymous blog, anyway.


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