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Sea mist covered my blankets when I woke up the next morning. I changed into my day-clothes and pulled the door open. The ocean still in motion, never sleeping, paid me no attention. I poured a bowl of cereal. I sat wondering what the hell I was doing eating cereal on a beach in Texas. Most of 2019 I feel as if I put my head down and pushed through everything that I needed to do to get here. In a van on the beach eating cereal.

I spent the day at a coffee shop on padre island, working and using the free electricity to recharge. When I made it back to the beach, the temperature peaked around 75F. I had been driving across Texas to be here here on this day, at this time, before the weather turned gray and chilly for a week. I did my best to be present and soak up the warmth and waves, knowing I would be heading to Missouri in a few days. I slept like a baby. When I opened the door the next morning, it was gray as far as I could see. The waves still lapped at the shore.

Determined to get inland before the rain, I left the beach early and headed towards San Antonio. On the three hour drive I planned my attack: Laundromat, river walk/dinner, camp outside of the city. I started by finding a laundromat-- a task I underestimated and certainly underachieved on. There were dozens, and most had okay ratings. I just needed a small place with a table where I could work for a few hours. Bonus if there is WiFi. I ended up choosing a laundromat close to an art museum, thinking I’d have a decent place to park if I wanted to check it out that afternoon. I pulled up to a small laundromat and drug everything inside before I realized that I was likely in a two star laundromat— dated and dirty, filled with homeless people huddling near the dryers trying to keep warm during the cold front, not a single table to sit at, and no staff in site. I was tired of driving through the city so I stayed, loaded my laundry into a washer, and headed back to the van to work. Thirty minutes later I climbed out of the passenger door, locking my laptop—and my keys— inside. Next to the dryer sheets. I wiggled a few windows. I thought about climbing on the roof and checking the top windows, but decided falling onto the pavement would keep me here longer. Defeated, I called AAA, hoping they could send someone over quickly. I returned to my laundry and took a seat on a bench inside. At this point a large bald man that I can only describe as a ‘laundromat bouncer’ came in and cleared everyone but ‘customers’ out. The homeless men groaned but didn’t argue, bundling back up in their layers of jackets and blankets, and headed out one by one. One man offered me a clean sweater and told me to keep warm as he pushed everything he owned out the door.

The bouncer man stayed and chatted with a woman on the other side of the laundromat while I folded my laundry. When she left, he approached me as I sat waiting and spent thirty minutes showing me photos of ghillie suits(camouflage suits) for ‘every environment’, explaining how he was ready for the apocalypse should he be alive for it. “Me and my buddies were out paint balling in ghillie suits,'“ he said, “one guy said he saw my buddy over by a tree but he didn’t see me.” He laughed, “I was that tree!”. He was tickled and proud. Just as he began to pull up DIY ghillie suit tutorials on his phone, the AAA guy arrived.

I sat in the driver’s seat frustrated from the day, annoyed that I still had hours of work to do, annoyed that I spent three hours at a smelly laundromat (did someone crap in here in defiance?). In the last week I had spent a shitty evening in El Paso, felt unwelcome in Junction, and now sat quite unimpressed with San Antonio. As I googled a local Starbucks to spend the evening working, a man who was clearly on some serious uppers approached my van. He yelled ‘Sick van!’ from twenty feet away, looking as if he was heading into the liquor store. I made the mistake of replying, ‘thanks!’. I looked up inquisitively, and he approached closer, just close enough to make it difficult to close my door. I tell him thanks, told him she was a diesel, and that I’m about to leave. He continues jabbering, inviting me to a new years party and asking for my number but never waiting for my replies to continue. I look to my right and see the laundromat bouncer in his SUV, staring through my car directly at this man. He looks at me as if to say, ‘Is that guy bothering you?”. I finally was able to nudge him out of the way enough with the door, latching it, locking it, and throwing an ‘i’m okay’ sign to the bouncer. Who nodded seriously, but kept his stern look on the man. I made a note to buy a guillie suit.

At this point, I was entirely over not just San Antonio, but Texas itself. Fed up. It was cold. I was tired of cities. I was tired of having to watch my back for strangers. And in a moment I decided to drive as far as I could to Kansas City. Forget stopping in Austin or Waco; spending more time in Texas during this cold front in December. I wanted to be in my own bed with my own cats within 24 hours. I had a 12 hour drive, I had barely been driving four hours a day. On one last whattaburger, a latte with an extra shot, and twelve hours of true crime podcasts— I drove through Texas, Kansas, and pulled into Missouri around 4 am.

I have been back home for over a month. The holidays were spent at my grandmas’, my cousin’s, my parent’s. I spent time with my niece and nephew, with friends and of course my cats. After new years, things wound down a bit, and I have spent copious amounts of time in my bed, working and watching Netflix, with absolutely no shame. In fact, I have reveled in it. For the first time in years Ive had the chance to sleep and wake up when I please. Which is exciting for me as a non-morning person, who is constantly chastising myself for staying in bed too long, for going to bed too late. In the van I have to work against the daylight, electricity, campgrounds, cooking, etc. But visiting my parents, when my van is complete and I have nothing pending… I found a little relaxation. A goal this year is to find more of that. To loosen my expectations that I hold so tightly that I accidentally suffocate the moments that give me joy. I.e. What’s the point of living your dream in a van if you are too hard on yourself to enjoy it?

I was gifted my solar panel kit for Christmas, and spent a week looking for someone willing to install it in the area. I was quoted outrageously, and other times ignored. In a last attempt, I went to social media and asked for help. The post stayed quiet until a friend from high school commented taking on the job. His name is Seth and he and his brother have a business working on boats, Brother’s Ritter Marine LLC. Having installed panels on boats, he took on the task and helped fill me in on all of the questions I had about batteries and battery banks. He walked me through each and every decision, every problem he encountered, patiently explaining the concepts I couldn’t grasp. I still lack the proper words to explain the gratitude I have for him. When I began my van build I started with a lot of hope and ‘I’ll figure it out’. Because it is true, I usually do. But I never figure it out alone. This van build has been a practice of asking for help, and receiving it when I need it most. I am humbled, honored, and grateful to know the people that I do.

It has been so cold in Missouri I haven’t taken the time to photograph the van’s new set up. Now that its below 30 pretty consistently around here, Lucy struggles to start without the engine block heater plugged in. And did I mention it’s cold? I will share a more extensive post about Seth and the solar panels he installed when Missouri catches a break. For now, enjoy this clip of the Missouri winter I am *enjoying*. Crank it to 2K for intended visuals.