What is it about the human need to constantly want more, to never be satisfied, to seek an upgrade for just about everything in life? While I understand that this compulsion can be used for great good — movies with sound, car seats with heaters, and phones that practically do our taxes (maybe someday) —it can also prevent us from enjoying what’s right in front of us.

Allow me to explain my line of thought here. After I purchased my dream van, I promptly began following my tribe more closely through every avenue possible: Social media, parking lots, gas stations, campgrounds, wherever. And every time I spotted a fellow Sprinter #vanlifer, I immediately took inventory to see where my van bested theirs or where theirs outclassed mine, and it was usually the latter.

To make matters worse, if you follow #vanlife, every freakin’ van is better than yours. We’re talking custom woodworking, high-tech lighting, cuter dogs, prettier bed linens. There’s even an adventure rig with a goddamn piano in it. I mean, COME ON!

And then there are all those wonderful friends who send me links to the latest camper vans hitting the market, which come complete with AC, heating, full bathrooms, skylights, and beds that float down from the ceiling. As I wipe the drool from my chin, I find myself trying to figure out whether such a marvel is financially feasible.

The absurdity of this was finally made clear to me when I checked into my campground this afternoon and drove to my reserved spot. When I pulled up, I found I really didn’t like the way the site was situated. So I walked back to the ranger and had her switch it to one across the way with a prettier view. Then I grabbed the dogs and went down to the beach, passing about seven other campsites that were even better, so I figured I’d switch again when I got back.

And that’s when I gave myself a very stern lecture, which went something like this: “Listen up, [edited], you’re going to go back to your wonderful campsite, get into your wonderful van, eat some wonderful food, and enjoy every last [edited] second of it.”

Honestly, I’m absolutely stunned at how greedy my thinking can be on occasion. Yes, in its gentler form, this thinking got me out of a tent and into a van, as well as into a campsite with a capital view, but there needs to be a pause in between theses leaps to revel in each new stage of my journey.

I’d like to place the blame at social media’s feet, and I do believe that everything about it is designed to feed the covetous beast, but it doesn’t explain my rubbernecking around the campgrounds. I really don’t have any great notions about why we are like this, but it’s clearly something that’s part and parcel of the human condition, considering I just used a biblical, commandment-type word to describe social media.

The bottom line is that I’d do well to remember that I have a great van, a dream van, a van that is perfect for me, right here, right now. Whether or not it’s a warm-up act, I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. At this very moment, The Whatever Van is more than enough, my dogs are plenty cute, and my bed linens have at least a couple hundred threads in them. Who could ask for anything more?

Author’s note: I’m hatching what I think will be an hysterical glimpse into #vanlife. It will tease, in an oh-so-loving way, the ridiculousness of the pictures of perfection. #vanlife is messy — I’m messy, my dogs are messy, and the van’s a wreck most of the time. This parody project even has a name — #VANities — and I’m looking forward to getting started.

When I last left this blog, I was gamely giving tent camping a whirl in the absence of a van, mustering enthusiasm where, truth be told, I had very little. My optimistic accounts of #tentlife were largely designed to convince myself, not you, that adventuring under a nylon dome was going to be a wholly adequate substitute for my longed-for van.

Not so. Sure, tent camping is OK, but I’m a person who still enjoys creature comforts and I honestly don’t feel the need to torture myself in the name of adventure. I’ve spent the last three years hungrily peeking through my flaps at everyone else’s adventure rigs and I realized that there was no putting the van genie back in the bottle. Once you’ve gone van, there’s no going back.

So, I got one of my very own. And not just any old van — I went from looking at a $6,000 beater to a full-blown Mercedes Sprinter van conversion in about five minutes. And there were no smarmy, yet highly effective, sales people involved — just an epiphany.

As I stood in some nondescript driveway in Los Angeles, trying to outbid a fellow adventurer on a European couple’s 1990-something, American-made, funky blue camper van, I thought, “This will be a great step toward the dream van.”

As the bidding went from $6,000 to $6,700, which included the sweet IKEA mattress toppers for the old banquette/bed, I bowed out, thinking that it was getting too rich for my blood.

Returning home in defeat, I Googled “camper vans for sale” for the 1,000^th time and prepared to scroll past all of the newer, turnkey vans to the under $10k offerings. And that’s when my foul-mouthed epiphany struck: “What the fuck are you doing?!”

After getting my attention, my inner voice went on to make some fairly compelling arguments, like:

• You’re 50 years old, not 20. When, exactly, do you make your dream van come true? When Medicare kicks in?!
• You’ve worked hard for almost 30 years, you have an IRA, your bills are paid — you’ve been a (mostly) responsible adult.
• Yes, you’re a freelancer and there’s no job security, but you’re killing it at the moment and this moment is all you have.
• You want the #vanlife? Then get the right van, right now, and figure the rest out later.
• And, should everything go to hell in a handbasket, do you want to be living out of a stinky old van with more than 200,000 miles on it or one that’s just a bit more civilized?

And so my inner Whatever Journey voice prevailed and I began searching for Sprinter conversions. I drew the line at going completely new with a custom-build, only because it would be a year, or more, before it would be ready. I am many things in life, but patient is NOT one of them. Once I make a decision, I look for the nearest trigger and pull it. For the most part, this propensity has served me well, but it’s also landed me in some regrettable spots wishing I had done more due diligence. Whatever. I hate shopping.

Within a week, I located a Sprinter conversion with only 50,000 miles on the diesel engine, which is practically brand new, and jumped on it. (These vans are snatched up surprisingly quickly as more people succumb to #vanlife.) So, I wired the money, had it shipped from Florida, and took possession on October 12, 2018.

Now, here I sit, four months later, in the Whatever Van, in Joshua Tree National Park, writing my first personal blog in almost a year and a half, which is really the point of this van.

I built this little table myself and broke it in with this blog.

My absence from this blog doesn’t stem from a lack of blogging — my bread and butter is writing up conversational 650-word pieces for other companies. But, as the cobbler’s children have no shoes, so, too, does My Whatever Journey have no entries.

And that’s where this hefty expenditure comes into play. I’m not only investing in My Whatever Journey, I’m investing in my future as a writer and rebooting this dormant blog, because writing here is where I find my greatest joy. And nothing provides incentive like shoveling over an appreciable chunk of your hard-earned money.

It’s going to be tricky to figure it all out — working got me into this van and will continue to fund my adventure efforts. But rather than spending hours in front of a computer holed up at home, I’d like to take my work on the road. The problem is, where I prefer to go, Internet and cell service doesn’t usually follow, which is critical to my writing.

Through experimenting, and some, doubtless considerable, compromising, it’ll get sorted. It is, after all, My Whatever Journey, which means there are no rules, no timelines, but there is a direction, and it’s forward.

It’s all about presentation.

 

The Whatever Van looking like a boss.

Beautiful Joshua Tree sunset as seen in the windshield.

They both insist on riding up front, despite buying swanky, van-specific dog beds.

The inimitable Joshua Tree National Park.

Stay tuned…this adventure is only just beginning.