Car Life
Celebrating My One Year Anniversary Of Living In A Car
Untold Memories, Moving Forward, and What’s Next?
One year ago, I moved into my Honda Civic Sedan.
My mental health was deteriorating rapidly to the plumes of the darkness below. It was now or never.
So I made my car a viable living situation so that I could thrive under any harsh circumstances and unforeseeable events.
Little did I know.
I can’t believe that it’s been a year already.
My path crossed many planes of directions, never meaning to be linear or perpendicular. I only had the map of the invisible compass at hand to guide me on the lonely road I faced.
Not knowing where or when to turn right or left.
I only had my beating heart to lead me astray to faraway places, resulting in meeting kindred spirits on the road.
There were so many magical encounters I’ve written in my ripped journal waiting to be unveiled— still bounded by the endless stories stained in ink.
I knew I was getting myself into — a life of freedom and hardship.
Most of the time, the hardships outran the raw beauty that surrounded me. Sometimes, the cons were hard to manage, but I always ended up exactly where I needed to be.
In that time, I built a bed platform in my car after three months of sleeping on the passenger seat with no prior knowledge of basic carpentry at a parking lot.
The struggles were real, not having a proper bed to sleep on and rest. Hopping from one store to another to ask for help in building it only to get an unhelpful response.
But I made it work anyway. Clueless and defeated, my new bed made sense to me. Maybe, not to the professional carpenters.
I also managed to have several different kitchen setups in my car. Over several months, the layout and design of my living room, kitchen, and bed changed.
Just like you would if you got tired of your bedroom.
Donations made, stuff bought, and the cycle repeated. Even living in a tiny space, I still carried a lot of baggage — weighing me further down.
Toasting to some of the memories left untold
There were times when I had to shit in my car.
There were moments of me sleeping when a group of people tried to break in, only to have a fellow van life neighbor save me. I never got to thank him.
Then there were moments of getting attacked by a bear at a mountain trail, alone and scared of getting my car ripped open. To the moments of facing hate on the road because of what I look like and the attached stereotypes that came along with it.
To witnessing the magic of experiencing my first free hot shower.
To going down a mountain cliff road in the middle of the night with a broken brake pedal because I was not prepared in grizzly county.
To experiencing cold weather, where I had to book a last-minute hotel as I did not want to feel what below 12 F was like in my car.
To helping a homeless woman and her two dogs at a Nevada rest stop — buying her breakfast and lending an ear. To moments of tears from the kindness of strangers that was amazed that I fit my life in a tiny car.
To moments of love on the road.
And to all the untold memories I have from one year of living in my car, I will never forget you. I wish to tell all of these stories and write them here one day.
Someday.
Moving forward. So, what’s next?
I don’t plan to live in my car for a long time.
I crave stability, a safe home to express myself, and a routine. I’d love to continue to travel, but I need a home base and some much-needed creature comforts.
Maybe, I’ll save money for a bigger vehicle to make my tiny house on wheels more comfortable. But it looks like, for the time being, I’ll be in my car for another year.
I’ll be hunkering down in North Carolina for a few months working a seasonal job. Also, I plan to take the tiny house and natural building house workshop next year to learn how to build my tiny home (if all works according to plan).
All of this requires money, so I’m staying put in one place for the time being.
Maybe, I’ll even move here temporarily.
Again, I can’t see clearly into my future. I don’t plan to see the exact measurements — I don’t need to.
I don’t want to. I’m letting the winds sail my course to where it needs to go.
I have faith that everything will make sense.
So I guess I’m toasting to myself with a glass filled with lived memories of all the trials and tribulations I’ve faced and currently am facing.
I’m toasting to all the terrifying and joyful moments. To every single experience, I thank you from the bottom of my heart because you are still piecing me back — gluing me abstract into a gleaming work of art.
Broken, misguided, yet she still beams with gleeful hope.
That’s me — the crazy lady that lives in her car, taking baby steps toward her unwritten future.
I’m still here, shoelaces untied, ready to be tied again to tackle the next phase of my journey.
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As with everything,
Never stop loving yourself. Stay beautiful, wild, and free.