Van Life Realities: The Good, The Bad, and the Totally Unexpected

Why I Ditched My Apartment for Van Life

Okay, so, like a lot of people during the pandemic, I started questioning everything. Was I happy? Was I doing what I actually *wanted* to do? The answer, honestly, was a resounding “nope.” I was stuck in a dead-end job, paying too much rent for a tiny apartment I barely spent any time in, and generally feeling… blah. Then I stumbled across the whole van life thing online. Pinterest boards overflowing with perfectly curated vans parked next to turquoise lakes, Instagram influencers sipping coffee with breathtaking mountain views… it all looked so idyllic. It was a siren song. I thought, “That’s it. I’m doing it.” I sold most of my stuff, bought a used van (a real fixer-upper, let me tell you), and started converting it. I mean, how hard could it be? (Spoiler alert: pretty hard.)

The romanticized image of van life is strong, right? It’s all about freedom, adventure, and minimalism. And, don’t get me wrong, those things are definitely part of it. But there’s also a whole lot of, well, *life* that happens in a van. Dirty laundry, overflowing trash cans, figuring out where to pee in the middle of the night when you’re boondocking in the middle of nowhere… It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. I remember this one time, probably about three months into my grand adventure. I was parked in some random Walmart parking lot in Nevada, it was like 100 degrees, my air conditioner had decided to give up the ghost, and I was trying to cook ramen on my tiny camp stove while simultaneously swatting away flies. I just burst into tears. It was so far from that Pinterest-perfect image I’d had in my head. Was I crazy to think this was a good idea?

The Unexpected Downsides of Living on the Road

The lack of space is a constant battle. I mean, duh, it’s a van. But you don’t really *get* it until you’re living in it. Everything has to have a place, and everything has to go back in its place immediately, or you’re living in a disaster zone. And the constant search for reliable internet? Ugh. Forget about streaming Netflix. Even checking emails can be a mission. I ended up spending way more time in coffee shops than I anticipated, just to stay connected.

Another big one for me was the loneliness. Yeah, you meet people on the road, but those connections are often fleeting. It’s hard to build real, lasting relationships when you’re constantly moving. I missed my friends, I missed my family, I missed having a community. And, let’s be real, showering becomes a luxury. Finding decent showers on a regular basis is a whole thing. Gym memberships become essential. I considered installing a shower but the space… Nope. Not gonna happen. Honestly, sometimes I just felt… grimy. And the cost! I thought I’d be saving money, but between gas, repairs (oh, the repairs!), campsite fees, and eating out (because, let’s be honest, sometimes you just don’t feel like cooking in a tiny van), it ended up being more expensive than I anticipated. Who even knew maintaining a van was so damn costly?

But Wait, There Were Good Parts Too!

Okay, okay, I don’t want to paint too bleak a picture. There were definitely amazing moments too. Waking up to a sunrise over the Grand Canyon. Hiking through redwood forests. Meeting incredible people from all walks of life. Discovering hidden gems I never would have found otherwise. The freedom of being able to pack up and go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, was truly liberating. I remember finding this little, almost hidden beach in Oregon. I was the only one there. The waves were crashing, the sun was setting, and I felt this incredible sense of peace. That moment alone almost made the whole experience worthwhile.

And there’s something to be said for the simplicity of it all. Living with only what you need forces you to re-evaluate what’s truly important. You realize you don’t need all the stuff you thought you did. You become more resourceful, more adaptable, more resilient. I learned to fix things I never thought I was capable of fixing. I became a master of packing light. I learned to live with less, and in a strange way, it made me feel richer. Plus, my anxiety about planning reduced significantly. Who cares if I didn’t know where I’d be next week? It was kind of thrilling.

Would I Do Van Life Again? The Honest Truth

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Honestly, I’m still not entirely sure. It was an incredible experience, one that I wouldn’t trade for anything. I learned so much about myself, about the world, and about what truly matters. But it was also incredibly challenging, isolating, and at times, just plain hard. I think the key is to go into it with realistic expectations. Don’t believe everything you see on Instagram. It’s not all glamorous sunsets and perfectly brewed coffee. It’s a lot of hard work, a lot of compromises, and a lot of figuring things out as you go.

I actually ended up selling my van after about a year and moving back into an apartment. Not the lifestyle for me, or maybe not right now. But I did learn a lot about minimalism through the whole process, and I still try to adopt the spirit of adventure as much as possible. I think I also overestimated my DIY capabilities. My van build was… questionable. Let’s just say the electrical system was a constant source of anxiety. Next time, I’ll be investing in a professional build. Or maybe just renting a campervan for shorter trips. If you’re considering van life, do your research. Talk to people who have actually done it. And most importantly, be honest with yourself about what you’re looking for. If you’re looking for an easy way to travel the world, this ain’t it. But if you’re looking for an adventure that will push you, challenge you, and ultimately change you, then maybe, just maybe, van life is for you. If you are thinking about the digital nomad life, you might want to look into costs and requirements for visas.