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A Zen monastery on wheels
Car Living is the less glamorous version of Van Life
Some people pay a lot of money to live near Windansea. Others just find a nice place to park.
As of this January, I’ve been "car-living" here in San Diego for the past three years now. Time flies. When Covid hit, I lost my job and got the boot from my apartment. I've gotten another job since then, but I haven’t bothered looking for another place to rent. Why bother? This city, like a lot of other places here in California, has gotten way too expensive for low-income renters like myself, so thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather save that money to move somewhere cheaper eventually, and enjoy my freedom for the time being. For those of you who are wondering what San Diego neighborhoods are like for someone who lives out of his car, here’s what it’s like.
First off, Google @vanlife – that’s the Instagram version of this type of homelessness. For obvious reasons, @car-living isn’t as glamorous. My car is tiny — about as small as a four-door gets — and from the outside, it hardly seems livable. But it’s livable, alright! You just have to take the back seats out and voilá – when you push the driver’s seat all the way forward at night, there’s your space for a bed. I like to think of my car — especially the little space I’ve carved out of the back by removing the rear seats — as a miniature, mobile Zen-monastery on wheels. It's minimalist to the max, everything stripped down to just my essential belongings. At night, it doubles as a quiet place to meditate and practice Pranayama breathing techniques before I lay out my sleeping bag and pass out.
The way I’ve made it work this long is by never staying in one neighborhood too long. That’s the secret. That way, I don’t overstay my welcome in any one place, and residents or cops don’t sniff out my preferred parking spots. For me, the rotation has been: one night in La Jolla, the next in PB, the next in OB, then the rest either at the employee parking lot where I work, or across the street from the café where I like to write fiction and poetry at night after work. All of these locations have proved to be relatively safe, compared to other, much sketchier parts of the city. And because they're all close to the coast, they never get too cold in the winter or too hot in the summer. That's especially important when you sleep in your car.
I would say La Jolla is probably my favorite neighborhood right now. All in all, it’s pretty ideal for a four-wheeled wandering monk. For the most part, it's full of quiet streets and respectable, moneyed folk. I’ve found it surprisingly easy to go unnoticed and slip under the radar here these past two years. I think maybe it's that people here don't want to be bothered. So I don't bother them. And in return, they don't bother me.
From the quiet neighborhood streets where I park — I pick a new one each time I stay here — it’s a quick morning stroll to either the local library or to one of the many cafes or bistros in the area. A little further along, and I’ll find myself at the beach, watching the seals at La Jolla Cove, or the surfers out at Windansea if I decide to wander south. If the surf is good, especially in the summer (when the water is warmer and the air a bit more inviting), I’ll surf, or at least go for a swim. If the waves aren’t good, or if it’s too cold or overcast, I’ll find something else to do. Usually, that means reading and people-watching at one of the cafes.
Lately, partly out of restlessness or boredom, it’s been going on long walks, exploring random neighborhood streets, or paths that I look up with a walking/hiking app that I like to use. Whenever I stumble upon a street that has one of those Little Free Libraries, I always stop to check to see if there is anything interesting to pick up.
For days when my body is feeling tight and sore and due for a stretch, there are also a couple of yoga studios in the area that I like to drop in on from time to time.
So that’s my life right now, in a nutshell. It’s pretty simple: I work, and when I’m not working, I hop around different neighborhoods throughout the week, exploring each one little by little, stopping at different cafes to read and write, rest and think. It’s a solitary existence for the most part, but I’m an introvert by nature, so I’ve learned to enjoy this wandering, reclusive lifestyle. I have no kids, no wife, no mortgage, and no drama. Although I don’t have much — I’ve gotten rid of most of my belongings little by little these last two years — I try to remind myself all the time that you don’t really need much to make it in this world. I have my health and my freedom, and that’s good enough for now.
Here's something you might be interested in.
A Zen monastery on wheels
Car Living is the less glamorous version of Van Life
A Zen monastery on wheels
Car Living is the less glamorous version of Van Life
Some people pay a lot of money to live near Windansea. Others just find a nice place to park.
As of this January, I’ve been "car-living" here in San Diego for the past three years now. Time flies. When Covid hit, I lost my job and got the boot from my apartment. I've gotten another job since then, but I haven’t bothered looking for another place to rent. Why bother? This city, like a lot of other places here in California, has gotten way too expensive for low-income renters like myself, so thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather save that money to move somewhere cheaper eventually, and enjoy my freedom for the time being. For those of you who are wondering what San Diego neighborhoods are like for someone who lives out of his car, here’s what it’s like.
First off, Google @vanlife – that’s the Instagram version of this type of homelessness. For obvious reasons, @car-living isn’t as glamorous. My car is tiny — about as small as a four-door gets — and from the outside, it hardly seems livable. But it’s livable, alright! You just have to take the back seats out and voilá – when you push the driver’s seat all the way forward at night, there’s your space for a bed. I like to think of my car — especially the little space I’ve carved out of the back by removing the rear seats — as a miniature, mobile Zen-monastery on wheels. It's minimalist to the max, everything stripped down to just my essential belongings. At night, it doubles as a quiet place to meditate and practice Pranayama breathing techniques before I lay out my sleeping bag and pass out.
The way I’ve made it work this long is by never staying in one neighborhood too long. That’s the secret. That way, I don’t overstay my welcome in any one place, and residents or cops don’t sniff out my preferred parking spots. For me, the rotation has been: one night in La Jolla, the next in PB, the next in OB, then the rest either at the employee parking lot where I work, or across the street from the café where I like to write fiction and poetry at night after work. All of these locations have proved to be relatively safe, compared to other, much sketchier parts of the city. And because they're all close to the coast, they never get too cold in the winter or too hot in the summer. That's especially important when you sleep in your car.
I would say La Jolla is probably my favorite neighborhood right now. All in all, it’s pretty ideal for a four-wheeled wandering monk. For the most part, it's full of quiet streets and respectable, moneyed folk. I’ve found it surprisingly easy to go unnoticed and slip under the radar here these past two years. I think maybe it's that people here don't want to be bothered. So I don't bother them. And in return, they don't bother me.
From the quiet neighborhood streets where I park — I pick a new one each time I stay here — it’s a quick morning stroll to either the local library or to one of the many cafes or bistros in the area. A little further along, and I’ll find myself at the beach, watching the seals at La Jolla Cove, or the surfers out at Windansea if I decide to wander south. If the surf is good, especially in the summer (when the water is warmer and the air a bit more inviting), I’ll surf, or at least go for a swim. If the waves aren’t good, or if it’s too cold or overcast, I’ll find something else to do. Usually, that means reading and people-watching at one of the cafes.
Lately, partly out of restlessness or boredom, it’s been going on long walks, exploring random neighborhood streets, or paths that I look up with a walking/hiking app that I like to use. Whenever I stumble upon a street that has one of those Little Free Libraries, I always stop to check to see if there is anything interesting to pick up.
For days when my body is feeling tight and sore and due for a stretch, there are also a couple of yoga studios in the area that I like to drop in on from time to time.
So that’s my life right now, in a nutshell. It’s pretty simple: I work, and when I’m not working, I hop around different neighborhoods throughout the week, exploring each one little by little, stopping at different cafes to read and write, rest and think. It’s a solitary existence for the most part, but I’m an introvert by nature, so I’ve learned to enjoy this wandering, reclusive lifestyle. I have no kids, no wife, no mortgage, and no drama. Although I don’t have much — I’ve gotten rid of most of my belongings little by little these last two years — I try to remind myself all the time that you don’t really need much to make it in this world. I have my health and my freedom, and that’s good enough for now.
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