Feeling like more and more of an adult lately and it feels strange, but not like I'm playing at something, like feeling like an adult always has, which is the strangest part. I went out for my birthday last night with people from my job and spent most of the earlier part of the evening talking to this one lady who in her thirties. We talk a lot at work. We get along. Then one of the therapists came up to us and was like "I didn't realize...you guys are close, aren't you?" I guess I hadn't realized either. I guess we haven't spent that much time hanging out, but I feel really comfortable talking to her, and I genuinely enjoy her company, and we have similar views on a lot of things. She's my friend. She's in her thirties, and she's my friend. That's a strange realization-- but mostly what's strange about it is that it hadn't occured to me that it was strange. I didn't think about the ages at all. Even a year ago when I started this job I was really focused on how I was the youngest person there by a long shot. Now I feel like it doesn't matter. I know part of that is getting used to the people, but part of it is me I think. I feel less aware of differences like that. I knew that was going to happen eventually, but it snuck up on me I guess.

My dad invited Aram and I home for Passover next weekend, and we're going. The weekend after we're taking our first weekend away together-- nothing huge, just going to a cabin in a PA state park for the weekend, but it feels very grown-up. But the thing that's really getting me is that I know a year, two years ago if we had done this, I would have felt (silly) so much that I was playing dress-up, playing adult, and while it is exciting to take these weekend trips as a couple and it does feel grown-up, what's really striking me is how appropriate it feels. How not pretend it feels. It's just something we're doing, and I feel like it's my place to do it. Not like I'm playing at something-- not really anymore. I feel, lately, like my life is more mine than it ever has been before since I graduated college. College was the last time I felt this comfortable with my life, and I mean the middle of college-- the whole last year was a strange time, feeling out of place with the thing ending, not ready, feeling like I wasn't supposed to be done with college because I had never really thought about what came after. I mean, I suppose I thought about it, but in a daydreamy, rambling, what-if sort of way. Never about what was really going to happen.

With these new feelings of comfort and ownership of my age and what I am doing and where I am in my life right now (god I kind of hate that phrase, "where I am in my life," it sounds pulled straight from the jacket of a fucking life coach book, doesn't it? That's what I mean though and I can't think of another way to put it...) come new feelings about the van trip Aram and I are taking. Until recently every time I thought about the trip I would feel excited, but also really nervous, and honestly quite skeptical (which I secretly tend to be all the time, though not necessarily negative at all, just...I don't know. Careful, I guess.) about it. By that I mean that I felt almost certain that something would go wrong, or somehow something would get in the way of the trip working out, or we wouldn't be able to pack everything up in time, or the van would break, or I wouldn't save any money, or etc etc etc all the things that happen in my head. I think this is because this trip felt like a dream or a story that I told myself, and not something that was really going to happen. But very recently I have started to feel differently; it is going to happen, and I don't feel as though we will be playing at anything or pretending, it is a trip we are going to take and it is the time in my life when I will be living in a van and traveling and hiking and if the van breaks we'll deal with it. And we will pack everything up, and I will give notice at my job (I have a lot of feelings and nervousness about that which I will probably write a whole separate thing about later), and we will go. I am not nervous anymore. I know this is going to happen, this thing that I want to do, and I feel so...christ, what's the word. Calm! I feel calm about it.

Anyone who knows me knows I am never calm about nearly anything that involves planning. I am a nervous wreck. But I feel calm about this now. We are going to take this trip, and I know whatever it is, it will be an experience I will be glad I had. I have no idea what it's going to be like, but I am confident that it is the right thing to do right now. More than ever I feel that I really, truly own my life at this moment. It's an odd feeling.

I didn't go to work today.  I mean, I went.  I just never fully checked in.  I hurt my wrist wrenching boxes the other day - whatever.  Couldn't type.  Wouldn't type.  No accountability...

I've been thinking about trying to take a small vacation before we get in this van.  I want to get out of the city and into a forest for a couple days.  Cabins were really pricey and/or difficult to find on Craigslist, so Jenna and I got onto the State Park website and booked a "rustic cabin" at Black Moshannon State Park in central PA for the weekend of April 13th.  It's a long drive, but everything - absolutely everything - was booked solid in the state parks closer to Philadelphia.  Black Moshannon is actually almost all the way back to my home town of Johnstown.  It probably won't be particularly remote or lonely, but it's going to be really lovely and give us both some time to read, decompress, and reflect.  We can hike and explore and generally have a leisurely weekend.

I think we both feel very grown-up at booking our first vacation, just the two of us - even if that vacation is just a $100 weekend in the forest with some ramen noodles.  I can't wait.

In the meantime, we got a WWOOF password from one of my friends, who's currently doing that, so we plan on researching a couple of farms at which to work during our trip.  I think it's going to be a great way to extend our funds and give us at least a little structure for the summer/fall.  We're thinking roughly of booking one farm in maybe the Upper Peninsula of Michigan or maybe Minnesota for early July, and another in the Pacific Northwest for late August or early September.  We have to see what opportunities are available and plan accordingly.

Today I went through our hall closet to try to organize and assess what the hell was in there and what I should do with it. I thought it would be a huge project, but it didn't really take that long, just an hour or so to take everything that was mine out of the closet, and sort it into piles of keep for now, send home, give away, and throw away.

It's amazing how much stuff I own that I had completely forgotten about. It feels great to purge a lot of junk. I tend to just hold on to crap I don't need or don't even want anymore "just in case," and this trip is proving to be a great motivator to clear out most of that stuff. I am trying to be very honest with myself about things that are truly worth keeping, and things that I really won't miss even after the trip is over, whenever that is. So far my pile of things to send home consists mostly of work-appropriate clothing and "fancy" clothing that is good quality and in good condition. Things that I can realistically see needing post-trip and would prefer to not have to spend money to replace eventually, but not things that I can see any reason to bring with me in the van, where we have limited space.

Like Aram, I will be bringing one full work-appropriate outfit, should the need arise for an interview if we decide to settle down somewhere for awhile. But other than that, most of my nicer clothes will be heading home to my generous parents' basement for the duration of the trip.

So far, that stuff, it's one suitcase, and I've gone through everything I own. Of course I have clothes I am keeping for now, as there are still almost 3 months until we leave and I will be keeping my job until almost that point, necessitating more than just the bare essentials I'll be bringing in the van. But I foresee probably no more than one more small bag of clothes going home to my parents' house.

By comparison, these are the bags of "giveaway" that Aram and I have collected so far. It's mostly mine.

Don't mind the roommate's cat sneaking in for a cameo there.

And these are the bags of "throw away". That red suitcase too. That shit has been broken for years. Why did I keep it?

The cat is not for throw away! Maybe she wants the red suitcase for herself?

What's left to pack up is strange limbo things that we won't need in the van, but we'll need in the time between now and when we leave-- kitchen applicances, candles, mirror, the few pieces of furniture we want to keep, the art on our walls, and books. Well, I guess we don't "need" the art, but I want our home to still feel like a home for as long as it can.

I can't believe how much useless shit I own. I can't wait to get rid of these bags. I held on to clothes that were irreparably damaged, stained, ripped, or in good condition but things I wouldn't have worn a year ago, let alone today. I don't know why I've done that in the past but I'd love to stop, and I hope that this clean-out will be a lesson for me in learning to keep my things a little simpler. I only wear a small portion of what I own. My tastes are very simple and I'm very happy to wear the same things over and over if they are comfortable and I feel good in them. I have not yet put together a list of what clothing items I'll be bringing on the trip, but I'm working on a mental one for now.

I need to get a raincoat. Or find mine. I thought I had one somewhere.

In any case, the closer this trip gets, the more nervous and excited I am to embark. For me, a huge part of this is that I am not ready to be settled anywhere. I feel as though I have seen basically nothing, and I want to see and experience so much more before I take any more "adult" steps like going back to school to get my MFA, which I do eventually want to do, or pursue a more concrete career. I want to spend many months outside, hiking, camping, seeing the most beautiful places I can, meeting new people. I guess it sounds idealistic, but I don't think I will have the opportunity later on, so I want to do it now, while I can. For me, this trip is a dream, something I must have fantasized about in high school but wrote it off as a silly wish that teenagers have-- but now, we're going to do it. I have no idea what it will be like or how I will feel about the adventure once we're actually moved into the van and traveling around in it. But the more I pack and clean and prepare myself and my "stuff" for this trip, the more I can't wait to start.

I love Philadelphia, and may very well return here. I will very much miss all the wonderful things about it, and the awesome, super chill people I've met and spend time with here. But for now, the thought that just keeps pounding in the back of my neck-- all I feel is this; June, come fast!

Just listening to the Comsat Angels while taking pictures of my clothes.  Typical Sunday morning.

I compiled a list of clothes I'll be taking with me in the van.  My goal had originally been to fit everything into my big army duffel, which I think I could, if I don't count my suit and outerwear.  Here's the provisional inventory:

These are my everyday pants right now, which is why they're dirty

Paint-covered Levis

Shorts

Two T-shirts

Thermal long-sleeve

Military sweater.  This guy's seen better days, but it's a good lightweight sweater, and I like it

Sweater

Plaid shirt.  I usually wear this open over a t-shirt as a lightweight layer.  This is one of my oldest articles of clothing.  Not sure if it's ever been washed

Denim jacket

Military surplus raincoat.  Includes a hood (at least, I think that's what it is), but it has no buttonholes or other recognizable means of attachment to the jacket.  A rain-hat may be indicated

Heavy winter coat.  This thing makes me look like a burnt marshmallow but it's astoundingly warm

Incidentally, I got this coat for free.  It's a North Face down parka, which means it was probably at least a couple hundo new, but someone had abandoned this one to the Bard College clothes exchange because it had a rip in the outer shell.  I sewed it up in about ten minutes

Herman Survivor oxblood boots.  Might trade these out for my lower-quality black boots, which are ostensibly designed for hiking and breathability.  These boots are a lot more waterproof, though, and also in better shape.  Or else maybe it's time to pony up some dough for vegan boots

I bought these in Mexico over three years ago for like $9

Winter hat

Bike tire belt

Additionally, I'll be taking along this whole ensemble, even though I can already tell it's going to be a pain in the ass to keep it in presentable shape.  It's the closest thing I have to a suit.  If we end up settling for a while, I'll want to have something to wear to interviews

Besides the above, I will obviously be including gloves, boxers, like five pairs of socks, sunglasses, and a bathing suit.

Even though I don't own that many clothes to begin with, it's pretty difficult to put together the absolute smallest wardrobe possible to cover all conditions from summer in Arizona to winter in Montreal, that will be comfortable, yet durable enough to meet the demands of hiking, camping, and farming.  Any such wardrobe is going to fail in some respects.  What happens, for example, if I get a job where I have to wear a white shirt and black slacks?  There are probably a dozen situations I won't be prepared for - but there's just not that much space in the van.  I feel pretty pleased with this list.

Big ups to the Turkish sour-cherry nectar from the Middle-Eastern grocery store down the block.  $3.50 for two 1-liter Tetrapaks makes it a reasonable expenditure.

L'chaim!

We had a productive weekend, but it also felt easygoing.  We cleared out the area under our bed, one of the final refuges of uncategorized "stuff" we own.  We filled a couple of bags with trash and clothes to give to Goodwill.  It was a relief.  Up to this point, I've been feeling like I'd been mentally and practically ignoring the imminence of our upcoming move into the van, and was pretty certain that I'd be spending the last weeks of May a sticky, sweaty, terminally stressed human mess trying desperately to rid myself of the massive caches of possessions that I, apparently, own in my neurotic fantasies.  In reality, we don't actually have that much to get rid of.

I also cleared off the shelf of filthy cans and bottles I'd procrastinated in photographing for my soda blog.  That will also be getting updated soon.

Suck it, diabetes

If clearing away junk actualized the move into the van for us, it had the less happy effect of throwing into contrast, for both Jenna and I, how ready we are to leave, or at least be done with our jobs.  I feel alternately under-utilized, in the actual nature of the work I do (or don't do, since I mostly get paid to sit and stare), and overwhelmed at the prospect that this is probably the kind of thing I'll spend the rest of my life doing.

I work at multiple client sites in Philadelphia for a document-processing contract company.  In practice, I scan, copy, shred, and mail at a variety of offices downtown.  I'm stationed at an office for a few days or a week at a time, trying to learn the particulars of the copy center's workflow, before being moved to a new site.  It's not that I consider myself "above" this work - in fact, this is the most "prestigious" paying job I've had since graduation.  I have cleaned toilets, scraped plates, and all that.  I found food service to be comparatively mentally active and engaging.  Rather, most of my displeasure arises from the fact that I'm not even very good at this job.  Giving in to the temptation to allow my mind to wander while doing deceptively simple jobs causes me to make obvious, easily-avoidable mistakes.  Despite the repetitive monotony of, for example, copying and binding a document of a few thousand pages, mixing up your copies or misplacing a tab or failing to remove a staple can turn this simple task into a mire of fruitless searches through reams of paper, re-printings, un-jammings, botched collations, and dozen other variations on general mess, each of which I've become acquainted with.  Needless to say, each office does the same tasks with slight, arcane variations, which must be followed to the letter.  It drives me up the wall to try to stay aware and a step ahead by dint of sheer mental effort, but my failure to do so leads me to bitterly self-criticize for the fuck-ups I inadvertently create.  On bad days, I think that my incompetence at even this basic work is a function of a fundamental incompetence within me.  This, of course, portends little good for my future prospects.  On better days, I think that perhaps it's not an intrinsic failure of mine, but perhaps an incompatibility of my particular skills with this work.  In which case, I self-pityingly wonder if this is really the most society feels I am good for.  Either way, one conclusion is unavoidable - I can't keep doing this.

When I first conceived of moving into a van a couple of years ago, I hoped that I could avoid or postpone the 40-hour workweek.  Perhaps naively, I thought it would be like semi-mobile squatting: carrying your home on your back like a turtle, what could be easier?  But complications continued to arise and only now are we actually ready to do it.  I know it won't be as easy as I'd thought it would be.  It's been hard enough to come by the money to do this - and in large part this trip is possible due to our parents' support and an insurance settlement I got from a hit-and-run bike accident.  The money/guilt thing is a whole other issue for me, and I've struggled with that a lot in the last year, as well.  I would really like to be able to say that I made this happen on my own, but it would simply be a lie.  It brings up a lot of uncomfortable questions of privilege and authenticity that maybe I'm not ready to face full-on at the moment.

Two years ago, I glorified non-traditional lifestyles.  Although I would never have expressed these sentiments so bluntly, it seemed to me that hopping trains, squatting, or otherwise living outside the system was morally superior to investing one's life in a vicious, unjust, and unfulfilling capitalist shell game.  I also believed that those who refused to play by the rules of that game were courageous and capable of enduring hardship, uncompromising in their pursuit of excitement and freedom.  Those who were willing to take the risk of poverty could reap the spoils of authentic adventure and ethical unassailability.  Conversely, cowardice spelled damnation as a cog in the cold machine of globalized capital.  I had perversely recreated a moral schema not so far removed from the crusader of unhindered capitalism, Ayn Rand: for Rand, those with the initiative and strength of character take risks by inventing and producing products, while the weak preterite masses untouched by ruthless genius serve the master class in whatever meager ways they may.  For me, the heroic risk-takers weren't businessmen or inventors, but those who dared to drop out, while the unfortunate masses were those who ignorantly toiled away, alienated from the products of their labor, spending their money in a desperate chase for authentic feeling.  The content is different, but the form is the same, and both are equally bullshit.

My political convictions have become blunted.  I've come to see, firsthand, the comfort and easy enjoyment that a steady paycheck and urban lifestyle can bring.  Sometimes I look at beautiful consumer goods and think, "You know, why shouldn't I want this?  Wouldn't it be nice to have this?"  I found that I like good food.  Good bike parts feel good to ride on.  Cheap coffee sucks.  Clothes that don't come from thrift stores fit better.  And although I always knew that, I now allow myself to accept it, and not to feel (as) guilty for having material wants.  For a long time, I would have felt that getting wrapped up in, for example, the aesthetics of home furnishings was pathetic, decadent, and unprincipled -  caving in to the logic of capitalism.  As with most things, my truth is somewhere in the middle.  Consumerism is empty and boring.  Self-denial on principle is equally empty and boring.  And, having met a decent cross-section of the glorified drop-out class, I can vouch that most of them aren't bathing in limitless freedom and enjoying their lives to the fullest or whatever.  A lot of them are knife-wielding scumbags I want nothing to do with.  I began to think about the things that brought me pleasure, and began to reflect on how few of them would be improved upon by becoming homeless. I've come to realize that freedom isn't a singular concept.  Every lifestyle represents a balance of freedoms - which you give up, and which you get to exercise in return.

I guess things are more nuanced than they seemed when I was 19.  I bet no one has ever felt that way before.

It's absurd to view life as a hard duality: surrender to the soulless, cubicled, materialistic, middle-class house-car-wife-kids catastrophe on one hand or freeing oneself from the moral and practical confines of an oppressive society on the other.  I know that both of these are threadbare clichés, stereotypes, media portrayals, juvenile fantasies.  Not all compromise is capitulation.

If this van trip was originally a test to see if I was made of strong enough stuff to be one of the heroic resisters, one of the brave, principled rebels, I hope that now it is a more open-ended journey.  I don't know what I mean to accomplish, but that's probably a good thing.  Perhaps I'll hate living in a van, and then at least I'll have an idea of how I don't want to live my life.  This trip is kind of a leap of faith.  It's going to take me out of my comfort zone.  But it's not going to be a test of my mettle which, if I "fail," means accepting that I'm a weak-willed product of the Establishment, or whatever.  That's stupid.  Rather, I would like to see this as an opportunity to try to exercise spontaneity.  It would probably be good to free my mind from my compulsion to analyze.  I need something unexpected, a dose of unfiltered experience.

Well, that's where I'm coming from.