When people find out I'm 51 and living in a van, a lot of them assume I've checked out. Given up on relationships. Walked away from family.
It's the opposite. Living small didn't make me need people less. It took away everything I used to hide behind, the house, the busy schedule, the routine, and left me with a real question: what do family and partnership actually look like when there's no script to follow?
I don't have it all figured out. But here's what I've learned so far.
Being close isn't the same as being present
At my age, people expect you to be settled. A house. Roots. When you don't fit that picture, people worry, and some of them tell you, and some talk behind your back.
I'd be lying if I said it doesn't get to me. Some nights I ask myself if I'm being selfish. If I'm less there for my kids because of the life I chose.
What I keep coming back to is this: I've lived the version where I was right there in the same house, and my head was somewhere else. Stressed about money. Stressed about work. Physically there, mentally gone.
Now I travel to Idaho to see my kids every month, and when I'm with them, I'm with them. My life is simple enough now that I have room in my head for the people I love.
Distance isn't better. I miss them like crazy. But I don't measure love by miles anymore. I measure it by how I show up. When I'm there, and when I'm not. Do I call? Do I listen? Do they know I'm in their corner?
Dating without the usual milestones
People ask how dating even works when you live in a van. For Kelly and me, it doesn't follow the usual steps. We're not moving in together or shopping for a house. We live separate lives in separate places and come together when we can.
When she steps into my van, she steps into my whole world. It all fits in here. When I step into hers, it's a different life, different routine, different people, and different pace.
A small space teaches you fast. You can't walk off to another room when things get tense. There is no other room. So you either talk about it, or you sit there pretending it's fine. Pretending doesn't last long in a van.
I've had to get better at saying what I need, clearly and kindly, work in progress. And better at hearing what I don't want to hear.
Relationships at this stage of life are complicated. We both have kids. We both have history. Sometimes our lives fit together easily, and sometimes they don't. I'm not going to tie a neat bow on that.
But I know what I value. I want someone who wants me for who I am, not for what I can provide on paper, because I chose a life where there isn't much on paper. And I've learned that commitment has nothing to do with square footage or a shared mortgage. It comes down to respect, honesty, trust, how you treat each other's people, and whether you show up.
Alone isn't lonely
I need a lot of time alone. For years I felt guilty about that, like needing space meant I didn't love people enough.
But being alone and being lonely are two different things. Alone is where I reset. Morning coffee, yoga, the ocean, an hour where nobody needs anything from me. That's where I think straight.
The hard part is telling the people you love that you need space without them hearing "I don't want you around." What works for me is being plain about it. No disappearing, no excuses.
When I take care of that need, I come back better. More patient. More present. Protecting your quiet isn't pushing people away. Done right, it's how you keep showing up for them.
If you're rebuilding
If you're in the middle of rebuilding your life. A divorce, a downsize, or just stepping off the path everyone expected, you don't have to fit your relationships into someone else's template. You get to decide what family and partnership look like for you. And it's okay to still be figuring it out. I am.
I'd love to hear from you: how do you handle your relationships when your life or priorities change? Drop it in the comments.
Watch the full video on YouTube: https://youtu.be/q7uBlFCcCV8?si=J2rZlYtrEZwF0rkO
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