We Learned to Live in the Van

It was much rockier and more tearful than I expected but we did it. We learned to be married and live in a van. 

Spending 24 hours a day of every day in the week for months in a row even with the best of best of friends will lead to disagreements and close examinations and criticisms of the most minute idiosyncrasies. When the person is your spouse, it is more challenging because even a casual remark or criticism can have the stark underlying meta message of "you're inadequate and I'm mad that I'm stuck with you!" More fun discourse on that later!

Early on, when we were bussing and touring around Vietnam, the romance of "the trip" was so shiny new that the minor frustrations rolled off our egos quickly and without leaving any noticeable scars. We were high on our own pride at "having really done it!" Quit our jobs. Put ourselves at the mercy of adventure and fate. Done what all our friends wish they had done and left the comforts of stable employment and "the grind" to pursue new frontiers, new countries, grand adventure. We were still patting ourselves on the back then. Basking in our own awe to be too bothered by the realization that we had entered into the lifelong challenge of spending a life with just one person. 

On December 28 when we arrived in Auckland the adrenaline was still high. We bought a van! Hell yes, we are DOING this! 

That high ended a few days later while driving aimlessly up the north coast after a glutinous New Years Eve with friends of friends (who mercilessly noted our poverty and paid for our meals - friends, good karma is coming your way!). It was during these few days when we actually realized that we hadn't talked about our individual hopes and ideas for the trip - and when we did we realized we had very different ideas. 

It seems ludicrous that months would have passed, innumerable conversations about "the trip" before we actually got on the plane, yet somehow we came to realize on a windy tropical beach road that Bill had detailed each alpine hike he had planned to do while my thoughts were to make no plans at all and travel by the suggestions of locals - even if that meant going to beaches which isn't really our thing. 

First disagreements and misunderstandings ensued: You take charge of too much. You always want to know everything. You never asked. You aren't listening. You're too rigid. You don't even like the beach! I feel like we aren't communicating well right now.

Silence. Podcasts. Spotify. 

The next day renews hope of idyllic vacationland. But tensions rise again. You missed the exit. You haven't brushed your teeth in 2 days.  You didn't make camping plans for tonight? You expect me to read your mind. You don't notice enough. 

More podcasts. Local radio. Turn that off it's terrible.  

Fitful sleep but a new day. New hope. Another try at idyllic paradisical life of a traveling duo. 

It was hard to have no personal time. Bill wrote in his journal that he knows he makes stupid mistakes all the time but that during quiet introspective moments he is able to forgive himself for the thoughtlessness and move on. He had none of that in the van. 

I wrote about the heartbreaking conversation we had on that perfect secluded beach in Oamaru - that was January 31. 

It all tumbled out that day. Feeling aimless and without purpose. Having low self esteem about life purpose. About body image. About how how your partner saw you and the difference in how they see you now. Feelings of frustration about what we had done and hadn't done. Unmet expectations. The ongoing struggle to "be on the same page". Where to put things in the van. Mis-en-place for christs sake!  The wanting to be seamlessly and effortlessly understood by your soul mate - and then not. 

That day was a turning point. After that day we had a few more tiffs. A week of uninterrupted natural beauty, physical exertion and marital harmony followed by two or three days of subtle strife. Then harmony again. 

We arrived to Wanaka on February 22.  We got to ride bikes. Glorious bikes! Cradled by the generosity of bygone dirtbags who earnestly wished to pay it forward we felt like we had been kissed by fate. One of those "I must be one of the lucky ones" kind of feelings. We went on a breathtaking 4-day backpack and spent an afternoon alone with only us and a pristine glacial moraine. 

Upon returning from that hike my Achilles was absolutely having nothing to do with any further walking. I offered to drive Bill to a trail head to complete a 2-3 day hike that we had both wanted to do (but which I was absolutely not able to do at this point) but he said no, he didn't want to separate. And besides, he told me, it's more fun with you anyway. 

I'm embarrassed to say that it took a grand gesture like that for Bill to actually convince me that I was indeed the lifelong travel partner he'd always dreamed about. Until then I had guilt nagging at my conscious that the fearless adventure girl he wanted was just a dream. That I'd let him down. 

Around this time we got really good at living in the Ark. Like military precision good. Grocery shopping was a flawless exercise in procurement of trail mix additives and we each had our jobs (well Bill had to find coffee and alcohol and I did the rest). Setting up the bed had a grace and an order. Breakfast and coffee had a routine. Free camping was easier to find. Huts and hikes and lakeside skinny dipping baths were built into the routine and it all felt so normal. 

I think it took us 2 and a half months to really really actually learn to live in the van and be married and to feel tranquil and satisfied with it all. And to feel confident enough in ourselves and that routine that we could return to nuanced coupledom and feel like the we really were in vacationland. We had to learn a new routine. Appreciate new ideas and rhythms. New time tables. 

When I think about it, it's always taken a few months to feel totally comfortable in a new routine and so why should this be any different. There's a funny double standard about "vacations" or whatever you want to call what we're doing. An idea that since we're not working or theoretically doing anything displeasurable that there will be nothing but bliss. Of course that's ridiculous - but that doesn't stop egos from believing that.  

The tragic irony of it all is that just as we are absolutely nailing it on a regular basis, we must sell the van, fly to Australia, and start yet another new routine which may or may not take some getting used to. 

Bill Murray has been quoted as saying "If you have someone that you think is the one...buy a plane ticket for the two of you and travel around the world and when you come back if you're still in love with that person? Get married."

I mean YES, Bill Murray, yes! An emphatic dramatic YES! The suffocating stuck-togetherness of 24/7 time with your partner is intense and it's an accelerated version of real life - like 6 years worth of marital growth crammed into 6 months - but so worth it. 

So what now? Do I have to change the name of my blog?