MEDITATIONS FROM A WALMART PARKING LOT

I wake to the sound of an engine revving, bass thumping. Groggy, light streams in around the shades from the window at the foot of the bed. The jostling of shopping carts comes next, metal scraping against metal. Just another morning at a Walmart parking lot. After I make my coffee and journal, I’ll inevitably have to walk inside the retail giant to use the restroom, the fluorescent lights sharp, Katy Perry piped through

the stereos too much too early. Like a crab out of its shell, I am not a morning person, and the prospect of being in a Walmart at 8:30 A.M. is not a pleasant one. But when you live full- time on the road, a morning like this is an inevitable reality. It’s also not something us van-lifers are posting to our Instagram. Walmart parking lots are not known to be the Zen spaces that encourage meditation. Yet, after I use the bathroom that is exactly what I’m going to do.

A truth about van life, despite seeming picture-perfect through a screen—epic campsites with views of snow-capped mountains, a bonfire under the stars, an Australian Shepherd riding shotgun—there is another, less-posted actuality of this lifestyle. Sometimes… it can be really challenging. I shave my legs from a bucket, personal space is non-existent, and our home can break down. Still, I love it. I absolutely love van life. It’s why I’ve been doing it for five years. But I’d like to paint an honest picture about life on the road and a challenge I’ve faced: every single day is different and every single inch is shared. With the lack of a consistent home base or daily regularity, creating my own routine and having a daily practice feels essential. It’s the thing that grounds me when my life is ungrounded by nature. It’s the thing that anchors me because I have no anchor.

My husband and I cohabitate in a 19-foot metal box that has 15 square feet of navigable space. We sleep, cook, clean, work, watch TV, go to the bathroom, and live our lives in a Ram Promaster cargo van. We call America’s public lands home, so “home” is constantly changing. Sometimes we don’t know where we will sleep next.

We don’t know when our next hot shower will be. We forward our mail to friends and family. “Personal space” means my husband sits in the back on the bed and I sit up in the cab on the passenger seat. It’s a far cry from traditional living with a partner in an apartment or house. Not only do we have to navigate sharing space, but when it comes to personal practices- like meditation—I’ve had to make some adjustments.

When I lived in an apartment, I had space for an altar. A meditation corner. Stacks of books. I could lay out a mat and stretch. Every morning, I would journal, meditate on my cushion, light a candle, and have personal time. Now, those things seem like luxuries. Now my “altar” sits on our dashboard because where else? There is no room for stacks of books or a meditation cushion and definitely no room for a

yoga mat. What was once done inside has mostly become a practice to do outside.

On the best van life days, outside entails a field of sagebrush with views of mountains, a flowing creek with birds singing from a moss-laden oak. Sitting on a rock looking out at the most beautiful scenery, I feel so deeply connected, so grateful for the freedom and opportunity to experience what I’m getting to experience. Those days, finding peace and stillness is easy. But what about the other days? The reality isn’t always so glamorous.

Like the time we camped next to a sanitation plant. Or the time we slept at a small-town cemetery because there was nowhere else to crash. Like the spot next to train tracks we didn’t know were there. Or the parking lot where we got the dreaded knock from

a security officer. Like the time we had a mouse get inside the van in the middle of the night who scratched up the walls and climbed in the oven and Andrew and I were screaming and falling all over each other. Or the time we both got COVID and had to quarantine inside the van. Like when I went to open our toilet and the altitude had pressurised the compartment so a chemical poo storm exploded in my face. Or the time our solar charge controller for our electrical system almost caught fire. Or the time we got fleas. Or the time we broke down and had to sleep at a dealership for days until the part came in. Or when teenagers decided to have a rager right next to us. Or the second time we got fleas. Or when it rains non-stop and we’re cooped up all day. Those are the moments you don’t see scrolling, but that is sometimes the reality. Shit happens in van life (literally).

Those moments I miss my stacks of books and my meditation corner and my altar. I miss hot water and flush toilets and a house that doesn’t move. I miss washers and dryers and having a spare bedroom I can retreat to just to be alone. But regardless of the cons, the pros still outnumber these challenges. I’ve consciously chosen and continue to choose this lifestyle. To me, the freedom is worth it all.

The thing about having a consistent practice, like meditation, means that no matter the setting, the consistency is in choosing to do that thing. Choosing is easy when all the conditions are right (like the perfect van life days), it’s choosing to do it when it’s hard that requires the effort (like the Walmart parking lot). The act of choosing is the practice. I’ll try to find stillness while Andrew is diving 65 miles per hour listening to his morning finance podcast on the freeway. I’ll try to find peace when mosquitos are swarming every inch of exposed skin. I’ll try to find silence when the neighbor’s generator sounds like a jet taking off. That is the practice. Just as much, if not more, than the serene blissful moments where it’s just me with the wind in my hair, the sun in my face, the creek flowing, the earth beneath my feet. When we give ourselves the gift of a practice that benefits our overall health and well-being, it is an act of self-love. It also benefits the world around us: our relationships, the way we show up, the way we flow into the rest of our day. Just ask my husband, I’m the best version of myself when I take care of myself, when I prioritise the things that will make me feel good. Spoiler alert it’s not eating a donut and starting my day with scrolling.

The truth is that we humans love routine, consistency, predictability. It’s safe, familiar, comfortable. We know what to expect. We become attached to it. It gives us a semblance of control. Van life radically changed that for me. Less control, but more conscious effort. Less predictability, but more living in the moment. Less comfort, but more happiness. My daily morning practice creates the opportunity to be thankful for it all. No matter where it finds me.