Spiritual Experiences On the road

Going Broke and nearly homeless in California
Was I chasing the American Dream?

The van was infested with ants.

The Aerostar did not start. Baking in the hot sun on the side of the highway H and I weighed our options, there were not many. Soon enough we were moving him into my van as we watched his blue home hoisted up by the great tow truck. Gears turning, the sound of the pulley system motor whirring, a couple good clunks. After that was sorted the Astro took off down the winding highway – one suitcase, two surfboards, and one person heavier. A very unexpected continuation of the journey I’d started only a few weeks before. I think we were both wondering what we were getting ourselves into, we really didn’t know one another up until the last couple days camping. This was what adventures were about though; we were optimistic and I think both grateful to have a friend. Living in a small van with someone you barely know though could prove challenging, H made it relatively easy. On that drive out of the hills we talked about our annoying roommate tendencies and agreed that communication was to be open and essential.

We’d towed the van to a shop in Goleta, just west of Santa Barbara, but the swell was small and this area wasn’t picking anything up so we decided to drive a couple hours south. I think at some point we even mused about going to Mexico – we didn’t know how long it would be until H’s van was fixed. The period of time that followed is quite a blur, and I cannot exactly recall how everything came to. I struggled to decide how to even write about it all, because all though there were beautiful places seen and memorable surfs had the significance of this period seemed to be in the internal shifts that I experienced.

The next week was a lot of wandering and surfing, and it felt far longer than a week. During this period we drove as far south as Encinitas if I recall correctly, and surfed all the way along. After hitting our furthest point south we ended up spending a good chunk of time just north of LA, living in a van got increasingly challenging the farther south you went, the urban sprawl became more all-consuming. The trickiest part was finding somewhere to sleep that wasn’t adjacent to highways, or train tracks, or largely inhabited by people without homes. We had six boards travelling with us because at some point H I both bought another for ourselves, this meant that we had to sleep with two under the van making ourselves targets for easy theft in the urban areas. I remember one night we’d thought we’d found a good spot to sleep, and during our nightly game of cards became a bit spooked by someone quite high on something running around erratically in the park that we’d decided to sleep by. This period of time induced stress for me. I don’t think H was really aware until later how stressed I was. This stress was also not the result of my new roommate, he became a great friend, we had fun and surfed a lot. He helped to keep things light, I was impressed by his ability to stay grounded and seemingly worry-free. I often thought that if it were my home in the auto shop I’d be a mess. I think this stress had existed prior and just needed the right circumstance to expose itself. I think I had created pressure to make something happen for myself this winter, I was chasing what I now realize to be my version of the American Dream. Sharing a cramped space, sleeping by train tracks, living perpetually un-showered, likely often not eating quite enough because cooking was tiresome in the van, and with a dwindling bank account (I did not anticipate the impact of the exchange rate before starting this journey) things started to take a toll. Things started to let go during this period of time, I began feeling like I was living in a space of life unfamiliar to myself. My grasp on reality felt as though it was loosening, it was ephemeral and intense. I think only an excerpt from my journal at the time could give insight into the experience and the introspection. I’ll try to elaborate.

We exist in the now

Feeling gnarly in the van
– scummy
– tough on self esteem
– intentional, light homelessness
– surf culture of the 60s, parallel with this experience
– how we may not feel bad about it, but through the lense of others it may appear “bad”
– whose lense are we judging ourselves through
– choosing to renounce what we’ve had, a mission

Rob Machado’s garage sale

I am great the way I am and special in my own special ways
Chasing your dreams is hard
Will have great life experience and stories in the end

What are my life paths?
Two life paths
1. Writing, art, surf, alternative
2. Masters – political ecology, traditional?

But we exist in the now – go see path one out to the fullest extent

I also lost my running shoes
I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do

I jumped into the abyss
It threatened to swallow me whole

Going broke and nearly homeless in California
Was I chasing the American dream?
The van was infested with ants

On my way to where I’m going –> we exist where we’re meant to be

We exist in the now

There’s bees in the shower

Lord Huron long lost

Emotional rollercoaster
Spent a lot of time looking at dirt mountains

I’ll keep you in the loop

I seriously contemplated going back to school at this point, reintegrating with the outlined mode of “success” spewed to the masses. I was having a certain crisis of sorts, the uncertainty urged me to follow that shiny blueprint to success. And for more context, my running shoes flew out of my roof box which half opened on the freeway in LA – I was bummed, but lucky to not lose tanks of propane, my wetsuits, copious amounts of clothing, and emergency supplies. The van was in fact infested with little black ants for the entire duration of this experience, hundreds, they were literally everywhere and we couldn’t figure out how or why. They lined the doors, crawled throughout the cupboard and counter space, and hid in my bed. At one point, during an especially hot day, while I was feeling tired and extra grimy we went to get a shower at a campground where I found it to be literally full of bees. It really seemed like the cherry on top at that point (H pointed out a shower with minimal bees). I think the whole “we exist in the now” thing came about because I was often internally spiraling about my future and what if my great American dream that I’d set out to achieve failed and I had to go home early, empty handed. Worse, what if I never escaped this vortex I had decided that I was in. I literally have no idea what I was talking about with regards to the dirt mountains. And finally, loops had become a theme and running joke.

While we really couldn’t be closer in physical proximity, mentally, during this period, H and I were in two very different places. To quote, he was, “Relishing in the freedom of the open road and sun and dirt. Like a pig in mud.” Whereas I was struggling to cope, second guessing everything, the choices I’d made to land me here and what to do going forward. I was also putting even more pressure on myself to not let my anxieties seep into his space, feeling like I had to make everything “good” for this time with my new friend.

I now see the ants to be a physical manifestation of the stress and anxiety that I was experiencing at the time. At first, they didn’t bother me too much. But as time went on and my headspace continued to spiral, they began to eat away at me. I was slipping into a reality that felt dark and sticky. Meanwhile, the ants didn’t bother H at all – he knew they would be gone at some point, it was temporary. He existed in bliss.

The way we perceive and receive the world, our experiences, are shaped and crafted by our own minds. We create our reality, how we view it, how it feels, whether its objectively “good” or “bad”. We choose the experiences and the lense through which they’re felt, and our lense is largely a result of the ways in which we’re brought up; the social norms we’re accustomed to and the ways of living that we’re comfortable in. I wanted to let go of all these things, yet I was struggling. I was internalizing and stoking the fire to a reality in which I envisioned that things would keep getting harder. I let fear take over.

Looking back on photos I found that our home base at the time resembled the edge of the world. Fitting, considering how at the time I felt that I was teetering on the edge of mine. Up in the hills, just a turn off from the coastal highway a little north of Malibu, traversing a steep incline we’d pass mansions along the way before coming to our perch. It was just a big dirt pull out, uphill it was hard to get the van totally level but nobody bothered us here aside from the odd early morning commuter shouting something mildly derogatory about our mode of existence. Other travelers frequented the lot as well. It was stunning; many mornings as the fog cleared we woke to a breathless expanse of great blue ocean mirrored by an endless sky. Many nights were spent cooking under warm orange sunsets as a patch of ocean would become dotted with fishing boats setting up to fish through the night. They were good-sized boats, but appeared tiny from our vantage point. Fluorescent green lights glowed like shiny beacons from the boat decks, just out of grasp. Surrounded by mansions tucked into the hills, longing to reach those shiny green beacons, I often thought about what I was after.

I’ve felt a frustration and depression with the constraints and security of mainstream life for a long while. I loathe having others’ views imposed upon me about who I am and what I should be doing, I’m continually trying to shake it – often on the move. I’ve long struggled with the structure of our capitalist western society. I crave freedom and adventure – the ability to materialize my mind’s wildest dreams all by my own, which through capitalism I technically should be able to. But, that’s a discussion for another time. This frustration with, and distaste for, “the system” has inspired lots of van living in the past two years and chasing these far fetched dreams that my mind seems to just spit out. I wanted to chase the freedom that came with strong independence and renouncing the securities I’ve grown so accustomed to. I wanted to challenge myself, to expand my world 10-fold. I also wanted warm waves and red cowboy boots.

Although challenging, this time held beautiful moments where I found myself able to step back into bliss. On the warmest night, stationed upon our perch, we slept soundly with all of the windows and doors open. The sky full of bright stars, a warm breeze lapping at the curtains we’d set up. It was freeing and peaceful. Around this time we also had my most treasured surf thus far, waves that I had dreamt about before coming south. We woke at sunrise that morning, and knowing that the swell was picking up we were hopeful that our favorite spot would be good. Too excited for breakfast we rushed down the hill and found that it was as we’d hoped. I quickly found myself plopped into the line-up alongside 27 men and one bold young kid who surfed better than I ever will. People hooted and hollered as the sets rolled through. It was a right that broke adjacent to a mash of rock and reef that jutted out from the ocean floor. It was the biggest we’d seen this spot, not huge but the drops had power and the wave stretched on forever as you road it. An inviting wall to travel along. And just by the magic of the universe one of my dearest friends, Isabel, popped by for a quick visit (she was vacationing inland with family for that week) and spent a night camping with H and I at our home base on the hill. A glimpse of a life familiar and comfortable, I don’t know if she knew how much I needed her visit.

When the auto shop called H to let him know that his van was fixed we were stoked. While we really did enjoy our time living together (aside from my internal spiraling), we were happy to be able to stretch our legs and do as we pleased as individuals. We drove straight to Goleta from LA when about 10 minutes out from the auto shop, upon accelerating my van started shifted really rough from 1st to 2nd, and 2nd to 3rd. Cue the theme of my anxieties for likely the remainder of this road trip and let it be called Transmission Paranoia.

My mind flashed to the memory of a check engine light emanating a brilliant orange from within the Astro dashboard while leaving home. I didn’t get to the bottom of it, it was an O2 sensor which seems minor, even normal, for old vans. I had been in a “going for broke” mentality with big dreams upon leaving, I wouldn’t let anything stop me from going or slow me down. Plus, I wasn’t willing to fork out a chunk of my road trip fund on potential mechanical work (yes, I know this makes little sense), so with a Virgin Mary sticker plastered to my roof box atop the van I said a small prayer and took off.

Now let me tell you about a spiritual experience of sorts, not the kind that comes from yogic practices and dedicated meditation. One that tries to confirm your worries that you may be teetering a bit too close to an edge. Have you ever been nearly 2,000km south of home with someone you recently barely knew, moving into their van after having them move into your van the previous week? Might need to read that sentence again, it’s a bit of a tongue twister. Bank account dwindling, and no sight of concrete security in any timeframe ahead, chasing pipe dreams. We were in a loop – if you will. A week ago, to the very day, we were on the side of the road not too far north of here moving H into my van. Now, moving into his van felt absolutely surreal. We barely spoke as the autumn sun sank into the horizon. It was late October and I’d thought that I’d be back in Santa Cruz at this point. We moved in a dream-like state. I think both of us were in shock, both a little tired of one another, and both wondering what the universe had in store. But he literally couldn’t not offer me a spot on the floor of his van after I’d housed him for a week on the floor of mine. I am just grateful that my transmission didn’t start acting up after we had parted ways, divine timing if you will.

As if the universe had sensed my resistance it plucked the last ounce of security right from my hands. I was forced to let go. By this point, the jig was up and H knew of my turmoil, I remember him saying something to do with releasing pressure, that I could stop trying to force everything to be “good”. And I let go. I remember it like a wave, everything I had built up, all the closures and walls released. The image of leaving my little silver home flashed through my mind, it was all up to the universe now. Let Mary stickered atop the Astro take the wheel.

This release made way for one of the most memorable mornings of my trip thus far. The morning just after leaving my van we were parked up in the hills inland from Santa Barbara. It was sunny and we were eating peanut butter and banana toast alongside black coffee as we did every morning. I stood barefoot in the dirt on the side of the road, holding my toast and with a grin on my face I waved to all of the trucks and cars on their morning commute. Almost everyone smiled and waved back, big trucks honked. I was free. I had been this whole time.

We went south again, H’s van was just smaller than mine and getting tight, I think we were also both tired of traversing the coast looking for places to park. You can only spend so long doing the same thing in one spot when you have literally nothing to do and the swell has you cornered in one area of the entire southern Californian coastline. We were also both fascinated by the idea of squats, and had happened upon a couple in the last week. With nowhere to be, and the van feeling tight, we mused about the idea of setting up shop in dilapidated bathrooms I’d spotted. It seemed to be an abandoned state park that sat on one of the surf breaks. “How far can we take this?” We asked one another. We went to check it out and found someone had beat us to it.

Back to the van.