If someone had told me last year that I would name the back of my minivan “home,” I would have laughed—or sobbed. However, I wake up every morning to sunlight flowing through the windows and realize that, for the first time in a long time, I feel a strange tranquility.
I never imagined my family evicting me. One too many conflicts, too many people in a historic house. It erupted one day, and my things was on the curb and my phone was full of unwanted texts. I drove with all I owned in an old van for a long, with no plan or destination.
But I started personalizing it. Some thrifted blankets and pillows. The perfect used air mattress and side table for my coffee and sketching were found. A rug might make it feel more like a studio apartment on wheels than a car. It feels comfy.
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