Living in California, I bounced around a lot; I moved at least once every month while there. I found myself constantly wondering Why does everyone have their spot, a place to call home and feel settled, but I don’t? Where is my place? Often, I felt that being “unsettled” was my fault. I must be too difficult to get along with; something with me must be ‘off’. No one else seems to have this problem. I would walk around the Knolls for my 2 a.m. walks, up one street, around another bend. Passing by one of the twisted old oaks that were haphazardly placed in the unique neighborhood, encircling the stars in their curly branches as I danced by below. I often went for late-night walks, the air would be a refreshing 70 degrees after the hot day, every now and then I would hit a warm pocket of air. Late at night I often became restless, my mind speeding;  walking (which often turned into a run) was one of the few things I found that could rid me of the pent-up energy I carried. When done I’d lie in a nearby field, in a side street where it was dark, on the top of the ball field dugout or even near the train tracks and watch the open sky for falling stars. This. This is the place that makes sense.

I couch surfed, living with different friends for a time, but never truly having a place to call mine. The option of living out of my car was always present in the back of my mind; there was a desire to see how it would go, but I’d never been in that dire of need. Soon, options ran dry, I’d stayed with several different friends and my time with each was done. Necessity is the mother of invention; it was time to figure out how to do this properly.

The beginning of an adventure

I spent a few days parking on random streets, worrying that someone would come and tell me to leave. I would arrive late at night, looking for a street with several cars, and then get up and leave around six the next morning. I would lay one of the back seats down, put down my sleeping bag, and crawl in, gently sticking my upper body underneath the back hatch cover. Squeezing my way into bed, though tight, was also cozy; I had my own cocoon. I slept with my keys, and my tazer, my thoughts burdened with anxiety. The first few nights every little sound scared me, birds landing on my car in the morning, the sound of people’s garage doors opening…it all felt ominous. How can I keep doing this? I don’t know that I can do this on my own.

Always keeping it interesting…

Enter Spencer: a young man, refreshing to the spirit, wild to the core, and a different character entirely his own. His appearance of long, untamed hair, tattoos that dwelled on his chest, back, hands, and leg; attire of neon shorts, a rarely-buttoned Hawaiian shirt, bare feet and a long, or skate, board constantly in hand portrayed him as a natural beach bum, disguising his East coast origins. He attended the same college and had been living out of his work van for the past several months. We all had laughed at him, thinking he was crazy, judging him for his unusual lifestyle. He had many an opportunity to live “normally” but instead chose to continue to live in his van; he was content, and he enjoyed life with some fellow homeless and hippie friends he had met. The second time he chose it, I gave him my stamp of approval. “Not everyone can live this way Spencer. Your reasons are solid, don’t let anyone’s laughter make you second guess it.”

Studying at Skatelab

He asked me how I was doing one day in the library a few days after living in my car; honesty came from my mouth explaining how I didn’t really enjoy the streets. “So…. why don’t you come park next to me in the parking lot instead?” “You wouldn’t mind that? I didn’t want to take ‘your space’”… I responded. “It’s settled.” “You’ll come park there tonight”; he said definitively, with the grin that said don’t argue, just accept it. I ended up staying there for a month or two with Spencer and learning how he lived. He made it look effortless. I learned much about letting go of other’s opinions, about living honestly and enjoying life in a simple way. I learned the difference between book-smart, street-smart and putting into practice what we had been learning in class. Spencer was one of a kind, nonjudgmental and extremely honest; it was easy being his neighbor he poured out genuineness and accepted anyone in, feeding them, housing them, or providing them with what they needed when needed. Some nights a group of us would lay on top of his van, watching the stars, waiting for 11:11pm to hit for the lights to turn out, or 12:43am for the sprinklers to turn on. At 4:23am the freight train would go by, occasionally scaring us out of sleep, rocking the two vehicles in its gust of wind. The small group of us were content until the day he left and our “Spencer-less life began”.

Another one of Spencer’s crazy outfits. Yes, he wore this to work.

This unusual lifestyle was not typical, nor is it what I encourage many to do. But for myself, this period of time provided the best lessons. I was forced to face, head-on, the issues within the church, and within myself. I was able to learn from a nineteen year old how to love people genuinely, how to care for them without being judgmental, and how to see THEM and not their circumstances. I’ve learned much in the time I’ve been a vagabond. Now, I’ve decided is the time to “hang the coat of the vagabond on the wall and put on the shoes of the daughter”.  My knowledge of the last year, of California, of love, of being homeless, of friendship, of Christianity, of hardship, of care, of beauty, of travel, is something that will remain within my being, shaping me, until the day of departure.  Most likely I will continue this lifestyle, on a different scale, after this respite at home.

The lot

Reevaluating my situation, and attempting to discern where pride and idolization comes into play I’ve discovered that both have entered into the equation somewhere along the way. It wasn’t always present, but pride is a sneaky thing that comes upon you in the night. I discovered quite quickly in California that pride was a major issue in my life, there I attempted to aright it, living out of my car was an adventure, but it was also an attempt to humble myself and understand a different way of life. Now, ironic as it may be, I am returning home to live in a house and to work on the same issue. Returning home is just another great adventure, and frankly, I can’t wait.

Prov. 11:2-3

When pride comes, then comes disgrace,

but with humility comes wisdom.

The integrity of the upright guides them,

but the crookedness of the unfaithful destroys them.