A brief record of parking lot peace

Freedom from “will anyone bother us” concerns and “we are in the most gorgeous natural environment imaginable and it would basically be the eighth deadly sin if we didn’t explore it to max capacity"

We make it to our Harvest Host after an hour of thick traffic. I take Scout to pee, light my lavender candle, and luxuriate in the coziness of a rainy—and unpromised to anyone or anything else!—afternoon. I loved gallivanting around Miami with Evan and Marie. I loved our time in the Florida Keys and Everglades before that. But this is the first evening in ages where I have felt no pressure to do anything but simply exist inside my tiny home—and the first time ever, I think, where I’m getting a sensation that used to be common when we lived in houses and apartments. You know the one: You come back from a trip and organize a few things, and even though you enjoyed your adventure (and are probably sad it’s over), there’s this simple and comforting bliss in settling into your space.

I inhale. I look at Scout sprawled on the bed next to me. We are not in paradise—we are in yet another parking lot, the same sort of environment we’ve spent a fourth of our nights in since moving into the van—but 1) we are undisputedly allowed to sleep in our vehicle here and 2) there is literally nothing to do outside. I feel complete security in my home coupled with complete lack FOMO.

It is kind of dreamy.

Only a few weeks into our van life experience, I remember sitting at a laundromat not far from Hot Springs National Park. It was raining then, too, and I was surprised by how easily I romanticized the moment—in fact, by how impossible it felt not to. Sure, we were squeezed in a small lot with strangers walking by. We were doing chores. But I was in my home on wheels! I was with Sean and Scout in the middle of workday hours! It was novel and exciting and cozy to have a personal oasis parked atop the flooding pavement.

That’s how it is again, now. And I’ve come to appreciate the sensation even more because by this point we have been places where our van’s four walls don’t promise unmitigated comfort. We’re smart about where we park, and we take care to be respectful neighbors, and we’ve never been asked to leave—but that doesn’t mean we haven’t worried about the possibility. The last three nights in particular saw us paying for a privately owned lot in South Beach (under ambiguous restrictions) and doing our best impersonation of stealthy van lifers (difficult when your rig is schoolbus yellow and wears an internet satellite like a beret).

So tonight feels like freedom. Freedom from “will anyone bother us? will we be bothering anyone?” concerns and freedom from “we are in the most gorgeous natural environment imaginable and it would basically be the eighth deadly sin if we didn’t explore it to our maximum capacity” pressure.

I’m not sure what it says about me and us and our lifestyle of choice that this is the most peaceful I’ve felt in a couple weeks, but I am perfectly pleased about it.