I’ve been officially homeless for about a month now. Although homeless isn’t quite the right word. Everywhere I go feels like home, even if it’s just for a day. I’m living in my not so big Chevy S-10. It’s not glamorous…or all that comfortable. In order to stretch out fully (keep in mind I’m 5’3”) I have to lay diagonally and I can’t sit up straight. It’s tight and difficult to stay organized. I’ve got too many boards, too many paddles, and too many clothes. When it’s time for bed I empty the back of said things and shove everything into the drivers seat or under the truck. I choose where to sleep on whether there’s a bush near by to pee behind, the presence of an “No Overnight Parking” sign, and the absence of street lamps.
I thought about my last apartment this morning. I thought about the running water, the blue couch, the wifi, the drawers, the cupboards, and the closets. All I felt was relief. Relief that I can feel so comfortable in such an uncomfortable situation. And realized I had never felt comfortable in places that most would consider so.
So, when you see me crawl into the back of my truck hitting my head several times in the process and wonder if I’m happy…I am.