Via Iter Verba #3- What is Normalcy?

There exists a forcefield.

An orb of energy that radiates a shiny brilliance like the outside of a perfect tangerine. And when you put on your shoes, when you look at a mirror that is normally your own, when you first see a loved one in the morning – at every instance, you tap dance in and out of this shield.

I feel the forcefield like a radiating heat now. I feel the shield like I just clambered a useless battle axe into it. Most folks have two to four of these orbs, but I hold dozens.

I experience this first “shift” upon waking – groggy eyes in a monoxide heavy car. There is no waking up to the Christmas tree. Or the present of a hot shower before delicate fingertips at the sun’s rising.

There is a second dance into a shield, into a barricade, on fixing myself in a public restroom, or in the corner of a dingy gym. Behind the equipment, the corner is reinforced with dripping faucets, naked wrinkled men, and slime in the cracks of tiles in the showers.

When I ballerina dance through these systems, in the most masculine way possible, I emerge – buttoning up a smooth, blue, collared shirt with tan buttons. Occasionally, I return to a set of tan pants that have been crushed and crinkled in such bizarre ways, that if you propped them up, you could unfold an origami crane.

I return to work. Amongst no one who knows, and no one who shares my baggage.

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Theres a sense, when you feel all of these objects…like you’ve misplaced a bank. A feeling that you’ve accidentally worn a mask, sped to your local Chase bank establishment, and robbed them blind at gun point, and hold the stash…in your car.

You’ve found a thing. A loophole in a system long since designed to fail you.

You trade comfort for a voucher. A thing to be presented at the movies, or submitted to a machine that slurps it up- parking- a grand Ferris wheel- admission to a vast airport, yet a single plane.

A prayer leaves lips smothered in Chapstick, “Secure my seat at the table that I have dreamed of eating at.”

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It’s just sleeping in a car. When you work 9-hour shifts and do school full time and operate everything-you-possibly-can to finally secure a place at the race, it’s just sleeping in a car.

Its cutting a curtain to fit the small windows, and sticking them promptly.

Its constant rearrangement, so you aren’t bombarded with dirty clothes, or a suitcase to the face upon waking.

Its finally figuring out- you can lay down all the way; just stack pillows on the middle counsel and stretch your spine for a good night’s rest.

Its also, appreciating each time you lay down. A weight, lifted.

Appreciating the financial benefits. No rent. A weight, lifted.

Its appreciating Starbucks for Wi-Fi, appreciating rest stops, it’s using trash bags to put your clothes in – fresh from the laundry mat.

Its weird looks while brushing your teeth in a public restroom. Its a stranger noticing your filled car – mountains of clothes, guitar, two bags stacked and skewered in the passenger seat.

Appreciating gyms for showers – your workspace for hot water – appreciating a few regular parking spots you know you can sleep in.

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A perpetual. Wake up, do it again.

This is Van life – when stationary, working and completing school.

It is appreciating a forcefield.

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Thanks for reading,

~Erickson

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Welcome to Via Iter Verba – a collection of journal entries revolving around adventures in “Van Life”. From the day-to-day, to the grand adventures, to the emotions, Via Iter Verba seeks to speak on the unconventionalities of such a lifestyle, and unleash them to you, the audience. Have you ever considered “Van Life”, add to the discussion below!