The moment the idea of purchasing a van was on the table, it became a full-time obsession. Losing the ambulance was a kick to the shin, but recognizing that the dream didn't die there was so exciting and so much fun. I suddenly saw vans everywhere. I went from never noticing them (unless they were a Volkswagen 😍) to feeling like there were more vans on the road than anything else.


We owned a minivan. I hated it. I despised it with the heat of a million suns. It was ugly and it was stupid and all those years ago, when I told my husband I wanted to live in a van someday, I should have added the caveat: but I will never own a minivan. Serves me right for not speaking my truth. I've grown so much since then. And a few weeks ago, when we dropped it off at the wreckers and picked up our $250.00, I was happier than a clam at a lobster bake. (I don't even know what that metaphor means, but sometimes I just let my fingers do the talking here...😜) So, when I say van, please don't picture a soccer mom!

We were driving somewhere very soon after the ambulance loss, and I was seeing vans everywhere. I should have gotten whiplash from all the times I swung around in my seat to check out the camper sitting out in a farmers field or tucked behind a shop.

"Are you seeing vans everywhere now?" my husband asked me when we locked eyes after both staring after a conversion van with a For Sale sign in the windshield.

"Yes! Everywhere!"

It's such a strange phenomenon. We've had a rental Jeep twice — and if you've never driven a Jeep before, drop everything and run to the nearest dealership for a test drive — they are ridiculously fun. I'd never really noticed Jeeps before then, but suddenly, they were everywhere. And I was part of a community. Did you know Jeep owners all wave to each other? Like bikers, but with less leather. It's kind of awesome.

And when we bought our little red Chevy Sonic? I suddenly saw them everywhere.

So weird.

So that's why the world was suddenly overrun with vans. Like that scene in World War Z where there isn't a wall, there are only zombies. Except it's a road not a wall, and it's vans not zombies. Yeah. You get it.

"Stop the car!!!"

It happened every time we drove anywhere. It was our love song.

We have had shared goals since the beginning of our relationship. It began with our incessant search for John Travolta movies. (Keep your opinions to yourself. JT owns a piece of my heart and I stand by my man!)

We scoured thrift stores and markets and closing Blockbusters until I owned every single movie. Except Moment by Moment. John Travolta. Lily Tomlin. "A lonely socialite and a young drifter enter into a May-December romance." I mean, come on!  Couldn't find that one anywhere! Do you know where I can get it????

Finding Beatle records was next. Obsessed.

Then it was Toy Story figures. (You should see the collection we built for our kids!)

We've always had something that we're tracking down together. Shared goals, no matter how silly or frivolous, keep relationships fresh and exciting. It's a nerdy kind of excitement, but that's our sweet spot! Working together for something is rewarding and fun.

"STOP THE CAR!!!"

We were stopping to look at RV's, buses, short buses, cargo vans, conversion vans, vans in parking lots that we'd sneak up on and peek through the windows of whether they were for sale or not. Yeah. We were all in.

The kids moaned and groaned and looked around to make sure their friends weren't seeing their crazy parents climbing through ditches to get to the extended Dodge in the field by the auto wreckers.

When a 1981 Roadtrek came up in our online searches, our curiosity was piqued. We'd just gone to see a vintage RV because long conversations had us coming to realize we couldn't manage a family of five in something as small as a standard conversion van. But an RV? It's just not what I saw myself in.

The one we visited was cool. It was already outfitted with four bunks and a double bed. Perfect. It had lots of room and lots of seat belt. Great.

But it wasn't a van. I was not in love.

But the Roadtrek. I had a good feeling about that one.

The sun breaks past the horizon in a slow blaze of glory; not Bon Jovi rock 'n' roll (because that should be saved for when the highway's zipping by beneath you) - more like an easy hallelujah, a yoga-ish, granola fed, give peace a chance kind of glory. You're somewhere quiet. The kids are still sleeping in their bunks and you're cozied up to your lover, sipping a French press from ceramic, back doors open to reveal the breathtaking vista where you laid down anchor by shifting into Park the night before. Early fog curls up from the dewy ground and you are home...

It takes a certain kind of person to embrace the whole #VanLife dream. You either get it or you don't. I get it. And not in a naive, look-at-the-pretty-Instagram-post, kind of way. I get it in a gritty, from-the-top-of-my-head-to-the-soles-of-my-feet kind of way. Some of us are just born with a little wanderlust. Some of us live for bare feet and loose schedules and see-ya-when-I-see-ya.

I've got hippie in my blood, and I've always said I was born into the wrong decade.



No, I don't want to lock myself in and hot box it until I can't see straight. I don't want dreadlocks, and I certainly have no plans to go vegan. But I do want to simplify. I want to slow down. And even if I'm not a place in my life (or my parenting) where I can do a full-time van existence, I feel happy with the compromise we've landed at.

We will be fair-weather vanlifers. For now.

For years I've said my retirement plan involves living in a van. Sell everything. Hit the road. Home is where you park it, and all that jazz. Maybe one of the kids will buy the ol' homestead and keep it in the family (just like we bought it from my parents eight years ago) — and we'll pop around to park in the driveway and visit the grandkids in the summer. Wintertime? We'll be bombing around the beaches of Mexico, getting our sun on!