I’m not going to lie to you, I’ve been posted up at my dad’s house for the past three weeks. The main reason being, The Van is in need of some major repairs. (Or is this just my excuse?)

There’s a feeling which overcomes you, riding down the streets you grew up after being on the road for months. Everything & everyone looks the same, except you. You’re hair has undeniably been kissed by the sun, your clothes full of stains & well passed the point of clean, dirt in every crevice of your body. All signs of adventure, each telling their own story.

I’ve been staring at The Van in the driveway, a constant reminder of these days. I can’t take it any longer, I need the road. I’m starting to get in a routine, same shit, different day. I finally have the dough together to fix The Van, it has felt like eternity. Days have passed by, wondering if I will ever see pavement. If there is anything I have learned, it’s to not give up, there is a solution to every problem. Fuck yea it’s going to be hard, what fun is a task if it were easy?

I miss my rock hard bed. It’s a futon mattress I’ve had since I was 15. I couldn’t find anything else that would fit back there[my van bedroom]. When I first bought The Van, I would lay back there, daydreaming sleeping in some off the grid place or waking up to the sun peeking out over the horizon. I cried back there too, wondering if The Van was ever going to get finished. Sitting there, weeping in my hands, wondering what the hell were you thinking buying this thing? Living in a van, you’re out of your fucking mind Stass.


This morning I sat back there once again, a smile coming across my face. You did it. You froze your ass off in Colorado, woke up somewhere in the Florida keys, & somehow managed to sleep two of your intoxicated friends along there with you. What’s next?


The beauty is, I have no idea. I have no plan, no direction. Planning ruins everything, sets you up for disappointment. I’ll know where I’m going once I get there.