60,000 miles and two years in our converted van

January 26th marks a year and a half since we moved into a yellow van named Hermes.

January 26th. Two years, exactly, since we backed down our Florida driveway for the last time. We sat on brand-new swivel cab chairs. We left our house in a realtor’s hands. We felt giddy (perhaps Scout a little confused).

The past 732 days feel like a dream. Maybe I have been watching someone else—someone better—live my life for me? Each experience was bright and real and mine, but now they’re fuzzy around the edges and I’m not sure how I’d begin to describe them to a stranger. Like waking up in the morning, slow and content, then trying to explain the details of your subconscious exploits to an outsider.

How different am I from when we began? Would I be this different if I hadn’t moved into a bright yellow van and driven an absurd distance in a relatively short amount of time?

Some changes feel like a direct consequence of living on the road. I shower less and hardly ever use soap except on my hands. (My skin and hair microbiomes have adjusted—the flexibility is so freeing.) I can tole…