I barely survived the first Montana winter.
My natural heating was the warmth of being squeezed between 2 dogs.
I would go to bed saying, "I love my life!" Because in a way, I really did. I would wake up sore because of the bed hogs I was sharing with, and also the cold can hurt your face. Most of the year if you put your head under the covers it feels like you can't breathe, but in the sub zero temperatures, somehow you need less oxygen.
It got easier with time. I mastered the temperature struggles, the body adapts. I thought I would be moving my wheels, traveling and exploring, but I had a stable job that kept me in place, as well as the van didn't do so good in the snow. Had to wait out the weather. The summer was too hot for my dogs so I found a friend who agreed to take them for the summer.
Life was good, one man in the van, the warm season would end soon enough. People would joke, "Where do you live, down by the river?"
But I thought they were psychic, because I did live by the river...
So many people are psychic.
I think couples who fall in love with each other's wild heart and downsize into a van have found something special, a love that they should fully enjoy. To share the spirit of adventure is a beautiful thing.
Couples who share the van life are cool (like 
But being a single guy who lives in a van, still a little creepy for the mainstream.
Plus the way I built my van was a little tight for another life form. 2 dogs and guy maxed out the space for most people's comfort. I remember showing my mom, with pride and delight, my van project, "So this is your house? Your house is a bed." She had a kind of, that's it? tone. I can understand that, we aren't all the same. We aren't all meant to live in vans and tiny homes. There shouldn't be judgement on this one way or another. You hear that mom? Not one way or the other (I love you mom).
Another year went by, I found a place to rent for the winter because my memories of cold discomfort were already causing chills. But then it was back to the van. Like some kind of hermit crab I could feel I was out growing my shell. I had my freedom and my dogs, but I missed preparing amazing meals, I missed being able to provide a sanctuary for others. Dating was one thing that was complicated, but even with friends I was always visiting, surfing, feeling a little self conscious: Am I creating an imbalance? Is this give an take fair for everyone?
Living in the van I became conscious of being a guest-- in a way that I felt was good. I wanted to be able to give where ever I was invited. I wanted to bring something, a gift, a comfort, a skill, my labor-- it was important for people to know I had appreciation for being in their space, that it was a huge delight just to be warm, or cool... whatever the season was squeezing out.
One night I woke up in the fall rain with a drip on my head. The summer heat had cracked the sealant around the fan and water was leaking onto me. With only my boxers I got out in the dark and set up a tarp so that I could deal with the problem at a more appropriate time. Life is not easy in a van. I was tired of looking for safe places to sleep and battling the elements.
Luckily I found a roof to keep the van under, and I fixed the leak, but it was time to move into something new.
I moved out of my van because I outgrew my shell.
