One Free Night — A van story
Last night was the first night I felt really alone and without a home.
I parked my van somewhere amid the buzzing electric lights and shops of the Haight/Ashbury district in San Francisco. I had to walk around the shops a little bit to work up the courage to climb in my van and figure it out. Was I hungry? Thirsty? Did I need to use the loo?
I was trying to psych myself up for a cold December night in this van. This van is my shelter now. I try and remind myself all the reasons I’m doing this. I made the choice to give up all that I was to pursue building my dreams.
I tried to separate the idea of having no home from actually being homeless. I walked around and stared into the faces of all the truly homeless and less fortunate people. Could this be me? You begin to imagine how this entire adventure could land me in their same position, and how easily one could find themselves without support, resources, or hope. I can’t help but feel a little societal / cultural pressure to conform, to turn back, and that it’s not too late to just give up this stupid journey. But I don’t do that.
Sleeping in your van is still illegal in San Francisco. I have to be quiet and respectful so that the cops won’t get called on me. I pace around the van thinking of how to look inconspicuous, all while looking totally conspicuous. I curse to myself and look around, hop in the driver’s seat and then hop in the back.
The van is a dark blue 2000 Dodge Caravan. I picked this particular van so to look like everything else. I wanted it to scream “I’m not here!”. I bought it for $1,100 cash from a very kind older woman in San Mateo. My friends Alli and Justin brought me and helped me to check out the vehicle. It was a bargain, even with my needing to replace the brakes.
Now, sitting in the backseat, dressed in jeans, DEFCON shirt, hoodie, and leather jacket, I felt scared and ashamed. For a few brief seconds my mind ran away with the idea that this is my life forever. I will live and die in this van, I thought. I felt closer to the idea of social death than I ever have. To say you’ll live and die by your products is one thing. It’s part of the nouveau tech culture to shout as loudly as you can about how much you care. It’s another thing to actually follow through. People are polarized between skeptical and supportive with regards to my journey. It’s reasonable the skeptics’ voices sound louder than the supporters. The loudest voice often shouts that I’m wrong for doing this. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe I had it all mixed up. What did I get myself into? I have to remind myself this is perfectly normal anxiety for just having gone through a bunch of major decisions to change my current situation.
Life is an adventure.
Slumped over in one of the bench seats in the very back, I sink as far as I can so that none of the orange juice colored light from the city lamps touch any part of me. I don’t want to be seen. I’ve read about the problems with living in vans. Funny enough there is an entire subreddit dedicated to crashing/living in your van called /r/vandwellers. Among the tips like “find a great pee bottle!” are cautionary stories that all have one theme: keep moving and avoid the cops. Living cheaply by choice or otherwise is illegal. The worst of the stories involve cops rapping on the windows loudly with their flashlights, while their police car’s lights flash, and being asked to move along. Your poverty or frugality makes you a criminal.
I take off my leather jacket and crawl under it. I use the jacket as a tent to hide the loud glow of my phone screen. I send a text to a friend, “In my van now and I’m a little scared.” My breath fogging up the screen. We text back and forth for a few minutes about electric blankets and alternators. I try and play a game of Words with Friends, but I’m so anxious I can’t make out a single word.
I have a ritual that I use to put myself to sleep. I can’t just fall asleep much like I imagine normal people should be able to, just closing their eyes, little pink clouds float in and carry them away. My regiment for sleeping is this: I first restlessly toss and turn, flittering in and out of passing out and waking up, thinking about all the things I need to or have done. I get tired of this and remember that I can fall asleep while counting backwards from 100 while simultaneously thinking about playing a very particular video game. It’s instantaneous.
I am sleeping in the fetal position when the cold creeps into the vehicle. I wake up to strange noises of drunk San Franciscans scurrying around the streets outside. With one eye closed and one eye open, I grumpily and groggily reach for my sleeping bag. I should have made more time to clean off the white dog hair from the backseat. I’m wearing all black. I fall back asleep.
The next moment I’m woken up at 7am by the sounds of the city waking up. The tint on my van is dark enough from the outside that I’m sure nobody can really see in, but I can see them so perfectly it makes me doubt the reality of the situation. People are walking to work, dressed in their dark wool coats, white earbuds in their ears, holding their cardboard coffee cups.
Crawling out of the sleeping bag my first thought was: I MADE IT. I don’t know why I feel it’s such an accomplishment to have slept in my vehicle. I guess relative to the anxiety I had the night before, being alive, and not arrested felt pretty good. I made it.
I became elated with the feeling of being free. I felt like I pulled one over on the man! All my life I lived in and rented a house or apartment. This was the first time I slept somewhere I didn’t need to pay rent. It was a really new and free feeling. Then reality sunk back in. I had to brush my teeth and grab a shower.
Walking down the street to a coffee shop, while brushing my teeth gets a lot of strange looks. I make my way to Stanza coffee on Haight street. I am paranoid that I now look like I slept in my van. I am carrying a beard on my face that might give me away, I think. I check out the menu for a few while people order coffee. I’m here to order coffee, work, and recharge my devices, but first I need to use their lavatory.
I walk towards the back and there is a sign that requires one of the staff to buzz you in to use the restroom. This is typically to keep non-patrons from using the facilities. I look over to the barista with a mixture of fear and excitement, as if to say something along the lines of “SURE! I SLEPT IN MY VAN BUT I’m going to be buying something, so please let me use your bathroom.”
They just buzzed me in, no explanation needed. For now I still probably just fit the typical startup nerd look. One night in a van can’t wash that away. I order a coffee, and the woman behind the counter puts on the theme song to Twin Peaks. I sit by the window, the rain slightly coming down all along the people outside. The day is overcast and gray, washing out all of the colors. I ask her if she’s into David Lynch. We talk about her favorite movies. I feel normal again participating in conversation about pop culture
These are all just new feelings. I have to figure out where I fit again, existing simultaneously somewhere above and below the crowd. It will take a few nights for me to adjust to this new adventure. I’m sure there are going to be ups and downs, but this is what I do now. I’m more free than I have been in a long time. It’s simultaneously scary and beautiful, full of uncertainty and opportunity.
