The first time I became homeless was in March of 2010.
At the time I’d been dating an older man named Brad who looked like Kevin Bacon and lived in a three story cabin on a Lake. We’d met at Burning Man in August 2008 and instantly fallen in love. (Things are pretty instant at Burning Man.)
Falling in love in 5 minutes
Back in those days I wasn’t a surfer. I was a mountain girl, and spent as many days as I could whitewater kayaking the rivers of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range. Kayaking was one of those obsessive sports that became more of a lifestyle. The community I was in rearranged their whole lives around the river. Many of them lived full time in vans and trucks (that’s ute’s to you Aussies) so they could follow the whitewater as it flowed around the States.
My growing envy
I had a committed career so I could never take off like some of my hippy river friends. I’d stare down in envy as they made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on whole wheat bread out the back of their pick-ups. Or as they’d crawl into their deluxe handmade camper shell beds at the end of a long day. They seemed so immersed in the good life, and so free.
On my days off, which were plentiful, I pretended to be them. I longed for their freedom, but also knew I was super lucky to have the stable income that I had. If I were homeless, I remember thinking, I’d be making more than PB& J out the back of my truck.
Making our way down as a team
An idea sparks
The idea began to creep in then. Maybe I didn’t have to be an unemployed bum to live out of my truck. Maybe I could keep my job, and have my freedom too. When things started to get a little rocky with Brad, the idea came to full bloom.
You see, I’d put my things in storage when I moved in to Brad’s Lake house right before Christmas, as he had everything he could need. Maybe, just maybe, if we did break up I wouldn’t find somewhere else to live at all. Maybe I’d keep my things in storage and move into “the road”.
March in California is the start of the spring runoff. The snow begins its daily melt and crystal clear water fills the rivers. It’s the perfect time to not have a boyfriend, and the perfect time to hit the road. I replaced my two year old silver tacoma with a brand new dark grey version. It was slick. I outfitted it with a camper shell, roof rack, bike rack, and two beds in the back, one for me, and one for a very happy Bobo.
Finally free
I thought I would trial the homeless thing for a couple of months of the kayaking season and then come to my senses. Only my senses didn’t want me to come to them at all. They were absolutely loving it out here in nature, sleeping by the river, parking under the redwoods, or driving through the windy mountain roads. We were forced to be out under the stars, to sit by campfires, or to hang out with friends.
As a firefighter my schedule was 48 hours on, 96 hours off. I would come to the firehouse for my two days on, during which time I’d always manage to sneak out back in our evening free time (while the boys watched tv) to clean my van and do my laundry. When I got off in the morning I’d head to my storage unit to switch out my clothes, my gear, and start a new four-day adventure.
It was magic.
That’s our house!
I’d somehow managed to find the most insane freedom within a beautiful life of security. This was truly one of the happiest and most fulfilling times of my life. Just me, Bobo, the river and the stars, and plenty of close friends near by.
At the end of the Fall I found a sitter for Bobo and planned a trip to India and Nepal to celebrate the last of my freedom. It was an epic month-long trip. When I returned, winter had settled in. I moved into an apartment in Truckee to enjoy the snow and ski season. I often reminisced about our time on the road as Bobo and I snow-shoed through the forest or sat by our wood burning stove.
Loving having less
What I remember best is the ease of living out of one simple bag of clothes. Of realising I didn’t need a bunch of fancy necklaces, earrings or shoes to be happy. That, in fact, the less physical stuff I had to think about, the greater my ease. I remember the simplicity of not having a whole house to bog you down, with chores or worries or tasks to do.
I remember how connected I was to the world around me. The smell of the fresh mountain air. The blanket of stars at night, or finding shade in the heat of the day.
Oh, but what I remember the most are those countless nights sleeping by the river with Bobo curled up at my feet. He’d snore gently and cuddle in tight, wiggling his way ever deeper (if such a thing were possible) into my heart.
I often muse how as humans, we’re always looking for more. It’s like we cant help but abide the animalistic part of our being that longs to be safe, that draws in what is pleasant and good, and pushes away what is unpleasant and bad.
Yet when we learn to have less, to let go, there’s real freedom there.
I hope that in some way this has inspired you to pet the scared animal inside. To ask if there’s any way to let yourself be free.
Tell me, what could you let go?
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