Everyone always talks about ‘van life’ as this exotic, magical mode of living. Don’t kid yourself, it’s not. It’s trying. Far from glamorous in any form of the word.

Living in a van forces you into small spaces and literally, puts you in a corner at times. It requires you to communicate in ways that you didn’t realize imperative to get through the day. Difficult hurdles happen. And at the same time, small successes are elevated.

The freedom is real. Knowing you can pick up and leave a location, with all your belongings in tow. Simplifying and purging, only living with items that have a purpose accordingly to you. Starting a fire on the first kindle. Becoming engulfed in a book. You cut the bullshit and spend more time pausing in the moment than thinking about the next. Choice is palpable.

Sitting around our campfires at night, I would often think about the hypocritical juxtaposition we were feeding into. Here we are living in a van, by choice, and it’s considered ‘exciting’ and ‘interesting’, raking in the Instagram likes.

Put this same scenario on the street, not by choice. A couple living in their van, sitting around a fire to stay warm, eating out of a can - people would walk past without giving a second of recognition.

Privilege is more palpable than ever before. The privilege to access basic needs and the right to freedom seems so far removed depending on where you sit on the socioeconomic spectrum. It’s not ok, it’s not acceptable, and it needs to change. We all deserve some form of recognition.