I have given up trying to craft a pithy and succinct explanation for my walkabout adventure, now nearing the three-week mark. Or more accurately, fresh explanations arrive nearly every day to satisfy the part of me that insists on order and narrative continuity. That part of me cringes when I say I am doing this thing because it’s the thing to do. I imagine my 12th-grade English teacher writing in red letters: Circular reasoning.

I have been collecting other purpose statements for my walkabout. But I fear they might all dismay Ms. Humphrey, too. One in particular seems to have staying power because I’ve been kneading it it like dough for several days: I am living in a 90-square-foot van because I want to taste what it means to be fully human. I concede dear Ms. Humphrey might ask: WTF does that even mean? My response: Exactly. My soul insists that I find out.

I left Liberty, Mo., on Saturday with plans to reach Russell, Kan., by midafternoon. The forecast high for the day was 104° so I’d already scrapped plans to park my big metal box at a boondocking site in favor of a cheap hotel that allows pets. I patted myself on the back for problem-solving. When I fired up my stove to cook scrambled eggs for breakfast, I discovered I had run out of propane. I switched my menu to yogurt and Googled my way to a suburban Camping World superstore, which filled my 11-pound tank for $9. Adjustment #2 of the day: handled deftly. I even managed to find a store that was on my route out of town. We #vanlife veterans are nothing if not resourceful.

Adjustment #3 started with a simple observation: Doesn’t it seem like the air coming out of the air conditioner should be cooler? I certainly can’t drive across Kansas with the vents pumping out hair dryer-hot air. No problem, I’ll just find a shop to top up the freon. By now I’m getting just a teensy bit annoyed because I’m 90 minutes behind schedule, and the Jiffy Lube waiting room smells like motor oil. The full smile of an intrepid conquerer has been lowered to half staff, and I swear if Tamar doesn’t stop trying to bolt to get pets from the other customers, I will lock her in the van.

My smile disappeared entirely when the pleasant Jiffy Lube manager informed me the problem could not be solved with just a quart of freon. You’re going to need a new AC compressor. He recommended the mom-and-pop garage a mile away. I’ll bullet-list what happened next:

• The owner of the mom-and-pop garage told me he doubted he could find a compressor for a 2014 Dodge on a Saturday afternoon. Then he found one, but the parts place was closing in a half-hour. So he drove over himself to pick it up.
• Tamar and I hung out for three hours in the waiting room. The mechanics on duty occasionally walked though on their way to the office and reached down to scratch behind her furry ears. She now loves the smell of greasy hands.
• The owner said he normally closes at 3 on Saturdays but would stay late to make sure my van got fixed. He stayed until 5, at one point sharing a story about owning a dozen dogs when he lived in Mexico.
• The repair cost several hundred dollars, which sent me into an emotional tailspin for the rest of the day. My #vanlife élan evaporated. My stomach churned and my mind did budget math for the length of the four-hour drive to the Days Inn in Russell, Kan. I experienced fear, doubt, self-recrimination and lament. Adjustment No. #3 was misery.
• The next morning, a Sunday, the van’s air conditioning worked fine. I listened to a 25-year-old audio of one of my favorite speakers, Brennan Manning. As I always do, I teared up hearing him proclaim that the divine loves us not as we ought to be but as we are — because we will never be as we ought to be. I marveled at the extravagant and audacious beauty of the vast Kansas landscape. It’s like North Dakota but multiplied. I texted my friend Mauri: In the end is everything a metaphor for love? She replied: For you, yes.

This morning I am at a boondocking site near Salina, CO. Later I will drive 75 miles to the annual Crested Butte Wildflower Festival and marvel at beauty. My answer to Ms. Humphrey’s reasonable WTF question reflects an old Johnny Cash lyric. I am on the road because I want to taste what it means to be fully human, to embody spaciousness. I want to experience it all — the expansions, the contractions, the beauty, the discomfort. I want to wrestle in the mud, the blood and the beer. I am on the road so I can get carved out, so I can feel resurrection.

GRATITUDE: Thank you to Jeff Hon for kind hospitality in letting me stay two nights in front of his house in Liberty and letting me crash family takeout night. Thank you to Mauri Cohen for serving as my mail substation. Thank you to Elaine Wolf for teaching me about car alarms and wild roses and the so what spot.

With love,

~B.

“You can survive on your own. You can grow stronger on your own. You can even prevail on your own. But you cannot become human on your own.” – Frederick Buechner