I've always said that I'll keep living in the truck as long as it keeps making sense in the larger context of my life. And for the past ~6 years (plus or minus a pandemic), I think that's been the case. I'm young*, healthy, unencumbered by other humans depending on me for survival, and have had access to food, gyms, and other useful resources provided by employers. But now I've gone and quit my job to start my own thing, and suddenly the truck doesn't look quite so sensible any more.
On one hand, I certainly didn't plan on living in a truck for the rest of my life. On the other hand, I never knew when I would stop. Well, I think I've got that last part figured out now, and it turns out it's in like a week.
The Next Chapter
Originally, I was going to talk about my new work adventures here, but that ended up being long and only tangentially related, so I'll save that for another post. The long and short of it is that I've started an organization with a good friend/old co-worker of mine, we'll be running it as our full-time jobs, and I'm terribly excited about it. I'm in the process of purchasing** a modest place in a small, nature-y town in the PNW, where I plan to live for the foreseeable future.
Finding a Good Home
Speaking of good homes, I'm also looking for one for my beloved box truck. If you're in the market for a vaguely habitable*** vehicle, hit me up. I plan on giving it the full post it deserves within the next day or two, just putting it out there now.
Getting Somewhat Sentimental
Few who know me would describe me as a sentimental person; I don't attach a ton of significance to things or places or dates or what-have-you. That said, I think it's second nature for people to organize their mental models of time into personal epochs, like being in college, working at a job, being in a romantic relationship, etc, etc, and I'm no different in that respect.
I definitely think of the truck as an era of my life, and an important one at that. Hell, I've lived in the truck longer than any other place since my childhood home, and I haven't lived there for like 17 years. I'm not the same person I was when I moved into the truck six and a half years ago, and I think the truck has played an outsized role in how I've changed since then.
Which is all to say that there's a certain bittersweetness to transitions like these. I'm excited for what the future may hold, but I also recognize that I'm giving up a big part of how I've lived for most of my adult life, and it'd be silly to not at least acknowledge that.
And a Bit Existential
As for the fate of this blog, I haven't really figured that one out yet. I enjoy putting stuff on here, though as anyone who's looked at the time gaps between the posts can attest, I take my sweet, sweet time in actually publishing things. I've also accumulated maybe two dozen half-finished posts over the years, so I should probably either finish those or toss them if they prove themselves completely irredeemable. We'll just have to see what happens!
Oh, and one last completely unrelated note — I was totally right about my sap situation, because I found the truck looking like this after a particularly warm day.
The sap from the roof melted and dripped down the side, because I was parked on an uneven road. As hideous as it looks, it's great validation for my "melting sap" theory.
*Though not so young as I was, mostly because of the linear nature of time and whatnot.
**For anyone keeping score, this will be my third home, but the first one I'll actually get to live in (my family lives in the other two, on the east coast). I don't know how many homes you need before you get to call yourself a "real estate mogul", but I'm feelin' pretty mogul-y.
***The things that make it "habitable" are the skylight, interior door, and maybe insulation. Aside from that, it's just a normal box truck in all-around good condition.