One Year of Van Life: Navigating Exile

“Exile is the initiation which unearths the depths of a woman’s resiliency, commitment, perseverance and courage. Exile is a gift of space that allows us to see with eyes that are not possible when others are around.” ~Her Rites

We do not always choose exile, sometimes it chooses us.

However it happens, it is essential to the passage of finding ourselves and embracing adulthood.

It is the journey from living to leading.

During exile, we detox what is not ours to carry and are whittled down to our core self. We plunge into the depths of solitude to face ourselves. To navigate the swells of grief and loneliness. We learn from our wounds and transform them into our gifts.

We fear exile.

We are afraid of facing our shadows and being in discomfort to truly see who we are (strengths and challenges). We are terrified of steeping ourselves in the fertility of boredom because it pokes our fear of being alone or unproductive. We try to skip the process; busy ourselves, avoid, distract, dissociate, numb out. However, skipping the step of solitude, self discovery and inquiry, we betray and abandon ourselves.

I risked being rejected, judged, criticized and abandoned by choosing myself. I sacrificed my longing to be liked, loved, accepted and chosen for self respect.

Standing in my truth, I faced exile. What I feared most, being abandoned, had to be put on the line and surrendered so the truth would be revealed. In choosing myself and no longer altering who I was to accommodate others, it exposed my own truth as well as the truth of those I loved. I saw who stood beside me and who jumped ship. I left my partner, lost connection to my father, my relationship to my mother was altered, and gave up friendships.

The beginning of this year, I was given a months notice to move out of the place I had been renting for over 4 years in Santa Fe, NM. Luckily I was finishing up the first round of "final" touches to my new camper van I had been building for the last 6 months. I sold everything I owned that could not fit in the van or was not a necessity, and hit the road south to Baja, with my partner at the time, on "White Buffalo's" first big adventure.

She was perfect.

I was so proud.

Half a year of focused teeny tiny house construction, I did myself, was finally paying off.

So I thought.

I got the van to live freely as a digital nomad working as a photographer, rewilding guide and therapist. I thought, being rent free and having the freedom to travel anywhere anytime, as a Sagittarius, was a dream. And on many levels, this way of life did meet those needs and dreams. I felt empowered knowing I was living in a home I had built myself, that was functional, and always had a backup plan. I could work on the road and immerse myself in some of the most gorgeous wild places, and I did not have to rely on anyone for my home. However, upon my return to New Mexico, I soon realized full-time living on wheels had me in low key survival mode. Having to find a new place almost every night to park and rest safely, festered instability. Even if I was staying in one place for multiple nights, if I had to leave for supplies, I had to uproot my home with me. I was ungrounded, roots dangling out in the air like a plant being constantly repotted. My nervous system shocked and on overdrive, even when I could play in nature with trails right outside my front door.

While I respect and value my gift of resourcefulness, my willingness to try new things and ability to live simply (needing and having little), under the surface, I was unstable. I was in a consistent state of surviving instead of thriving. My life force was going toward daily needs to park in a safe, and beautiful place, if possible. While van life provided the freedom and flexibility on one hand, it proved to be confining and stifling to my creativity. Not only that, I thought being rent free and needing less would allow me to save money, however, I made less money than I had ever made because there was an energy leak flooding into survival. Most of my energy was going towards basic needs, so there was not much energy left for creativity to flourish.

This leak flooded and rippled into all areas of my life.

Now, I don't want to throw van life "under the bus". Some folks love this way of life and are thriving. I can say, I am a new woman because of a year in van life and would not take my journey back for the world. It changed my life and was an initiation into a deeper connection to self. I also believe these seemingly "struggles" of survival can be easily transformed into thriving with a little more research in creating a stable lifestyle on the road... but being the Sag I am, I just went for it and plunged into the unknown! Of course I was going to have to learn how to swim in new waters.

In the process of building out my van and living in it full time, I gathered a greater sense of self respect and integrity. The van was my home and became a metaphor for my self. Who I invited inside it, where I went and what I allowed or tolerated in relationships and life, was amplified by having built my own space. Although ungrounding at times, it provided an incredible amount of healing, resiliency, self sufficiency, introspection, cozy nesting, creativity and adventure. I was surrounded by myself, inside the belly of White Buffalo. In the belly of my inner flame.

Reflecting on this year, I made detours off of paths I thought I was supposed to be or thought I wanted to be on, onto uncharted paths into the unknown. I left a relationship I thought I would be building a life with, which no longer supported my growth. I used my voice, stood my ground and established boundaries with loved ones. I stood in my truth and did not altar who I was to accommodate or fit to another's needs, judgements or expectations.

I embraced who I was. In my wild, wise and wandering grace, grit and gratitude.

In choosing myself, I was faced with the depths of loneliness and grief. I was in an exile of solitude. White Buffalo and I trekked cross country making our return from visiting family in "My ol' Kentucky Home" back to New Mexico. We were blessed by the roaming buffalo in the Badlands of North Dakota. We prayed with my Pepaw's (grandfathers) tobacco pipe at the Bighorn Medicine Wheel in Montana, surrounded by morning fog and moose. We immersed ourselves in the backcountry of the Grand Tetons, plunged in alpine waters, and kayaked the rivers.

The parts of myself that looked for intimacy outside of myself, found holding and nurturance in the earth and my own skin. The crevasse and caves of me that felt empty and consumed with grief, were nourished and filled by my own tears. I did not have anyone to give my boredom or loneliness to. No one to witness, acknowledge or take the burden. No one to distract my grief from pouring out.

So I carried my grief. I told myself our story out loud.

So my own flesh and heart could hear it. I spoke it to the wildflowers, snowmelt, eagles and stones.

I was present with myself. Looked myself in the eyes and faced my death, faced my wounds, faced my joy, faced my visions. Gave them a soft place to rest, made them food, made them fires, and took them on adventures.

We grieved with nature and slowly returned home to ourselves.

As the last new moon of the year approaches, many moons rising and falling within this year, I am learning about stability and courage.

That grieving well is a part of receiving well. Grief tells us how much we loved. I lost an identity, a partner, patterns, relationships to family and friends... but in grieving deeply, I received myself and feel more true to my path than I ever have.

I learned through van life travels and in the throws of loss, that I can be flexible and adaptable in life's storms. Storms teach us to think fast, be clear, and efficient. "Let go and hold steady," my teacher would say. There is no room for procrastination yet we wait to pounce at the right moment. We see what needs to be done before it needs doing, and we do it. Storms teach us in the swells of chaos and uncertainty, who is willing and ready to navigate the storms with us or who jumps ship. I learned that I, like the turtle or nomadic people of the Sahara, can create home wherever I go. Instability taught me what I actually need and what relationships would not make it due to unstable foundations. I never thought I could build out a van from an empty canvas, but I did. I never thought I would actually live in the van full time like I had always dreamt of, but I did. I never thought I would sell almost all that I owned to begin a fresh start, but I did. I learned I do not need much to survive, but if I want to thrive, I need access to basic needs, safety, space and consistency. I need close connection to nature to feel grounded and inspired. I learned in the solitude of solo travel, to face myself and embrace boredom as a time of profound creativity. Loneliness became aloneness, fertile with aliveness.

Was it challenging? Yes. Was it character building? Extremely. Would I do it again? Absolutely!

My life has been a series of trust falls, stewarding myself through the murky and magical depths of the soul. My cells, my blood, my bones, now know this way of navigating life's passageways. It is through these Life, Death, Rebirth and Belonging cycles that I have remembered my truth and found my path. Moving through them in my own life has created the foundation and brewed passion for stewarding women and young girls through the phases of transformation so they remember their true voice and feel belonging in their body, community and earth.

With wild love,

Hannah

"They will call you “crazy” because you are, because you were born with the gift of seeing things differently and that scares them.

They're going to call you “intense” because you are,

because you were born with the value well placed to allow yourself to feel it all fully and that intimidates them.

They're going to call you “selfish” because that's right,

because you found out that you're the most important thing in your life and that doesn't suit them.

You're going to be called in many ways, with many judgments, for a long time, but stay firm on yourself and what you want, and I promise you one day they're going to call you to say, “thank you for existing.” ~Frida Kahlo