Truck Life - Part I

In December of 2020, my grandmother died from COVID-19. This was the first time that someone whom I loved passed away. I was 22 years old.

A couple months earlier, (a) I moved into a new house and turned an office into my bedroom. The walls didn't reach the ceiling, so my rent was cheaper than everyone else in exchange for less privacy. (B) I began directing and producing my first-ever documentary series called Tales of Sunshine. It was the largest creative project I had ever undertaken. (C) I sold my first car - a used 2005 Hyundai Elantra - and bought a used pickup truck - a used 2004 Toyota Tacoma. (D) I initiated a difficult breakup with my partner.

A lot seemed to change for me over six months. I remember feeling numb by Christmas time.

In the following months of January-April 2021, I continued directing the docuseries with all of my creative fuel and leadership energy. It kept me distracted from intense grief and loneliness. It seemed like all of my thoughts had some relation to death. I credit most of stability during this time to a therapist named Bret who listened to me navigate loss and change - thanks Bret. When the long production days were done and I still couldn't fall asleep, I listened to music in my room and let my mind roam.

On one of those chilly nights, an idea popped into my mind.

Why not try living out of pickup truck? Yeah it could be shitty, but I would feel so much more free. I despise paying rent.

I bought and sold my cars on OfferUp and Facebook Marketplace, so these were the first apps I checked. Sure enough, I found a dirty, used truck topper for $60. It didn't describe what type of truck it was for; only the measurements were included with some pictures.

Below is a photo of the end result.

But this was the truck when I first bought her!

I remember walking outside with a tape measure to see if it matched the length and width of my Tacoma bed. Holding my phone light shakily, I crouched in the back of the truck and wrote down the numbers. The central Florida cicadas and frogs sang especially loud that night.

The next day I drove 30 minutes to the seller's run-down house. He walked me outback and spoke kindly through his few remaining front teeth. Even with his injured back, the old man helped me lift the cracked fiberglass camper up and onto the truck bed. He even offered me some old rusty clamps to keep it attached on my ride back home. I gave him $70 for the everything. I video-called my dad afterwards and showed him the new setup. He seemed to approve until I mentioned "yeah, maybe I'll even live out of it." But before he started to dissuade my interests, I ended the call. I dreamt of the adventures on the whole ride home.

Over the next three months, I cleaned her up. I learned how to repair fiberglass cracks from YouTube, I installed a foam barrier to "prevent" leaks, and I washed the walls and ceiling. The dirt never really came off, but I didn't mind; I thought it added a rugged character.

My parents attempted to protest this idea, but I told them I was committed. After some time, they realized I wasn't kidding and offered to help me. My mom made curtains for the windows and pillow cases. My dad painted the outside to, "make it look more mature." I was thankful for their help.

The thin foam bed was given to me by a friend I worked with named Maddie. I laid it on top of a thin piece of wooden sheathing, which laid overtop of 6 black cubic milk crates. The milk crates were hand-me-downs from an old minimalist roommate named Manny who used them as shelves. Now they were shelves again, carrying my belongings.

By early summer 2021, the truck was ready to rock. I moved out of my office room and gave away a lot of my belongings. I stored some keepsakes at my parents house.

I was offered a job that summer to lead adventures in Hawaii (whole other story) and as I got on the plane, I knew that I would be returning to a completely different lifestyle for my final university semester in the Fall.

And it was a wild time. I was a full-time student with two part-time jobs living out of a pickup truck while attempting to edit and produce the largest film project of my life. My relationships were fading, my self-care was yearning, and I was always sweating myself to sleep.

But I learned. I learned a new degree of gratitude for air conditioning, showers, laundry, meals, dreaming, and people with stronger vehicles + chains who could pull my wheels out of the mud. I stayed on a few couches here and there when the Florida rain storms soaked my mattress. I received a lot of help from kind people. The Crescent Blvd House and the Shadow Creek House were my main providers in exhaustion / crisis times, and even the people who invited me to park in their apartment complex were lending me a generous hand.

TWO HIGHS: (1) Once I got into the rhythm and routine of sleeping in the truck, I took it out for an adventure. I drove to Atlanta with my friend and we rock climbed all day. He had turned his car into a sleep-mobile as well, so when the day was done, we drove to the nearby Walmart together. We went inside and bought oreos. We sat outside and laughed and talked, and when we were done, we climbed into our respective vehicles and fell asleep soundly (using earplugs). No camping or hotel fees! And when we woke up, we went to the waffle house for breakfast :')

(2) the first time someone wanted to sleep with me that semester, they asked to join me in the truck. I laughed and asked "are you sure?" We left a house party and parked near a forest. It was a hilarious, cramped, suddenly chilly (Florida?) night but I was so proud to show my tiny little home and nifty LED lights to somebody else. The sunrise through the window was beautiful and we shared it, smiling and giggling at the whole ordeal. When it started to get a little too warm (No A.C. in there!), I drove her home.

TWO LOWS: (1) One time, during my first or second week living in the truck, I tried to park off in a private wilderness spot. That night, I drove into the forest behind my university. I was overjoyed with the location and couldn't wait for the sunrise. It was amazing, and I woke up with deer surrounding my truck. As I drove out smiling, I was met by a stormwater truck dumping runoff water into a back lot. I had to drive by him to get out, but the ground was already soaked from the previous hour of water drainage. I thought I could get through it, but my truck sank into the mud. I tried to get myself out with no success, so after a couple hours of trying to get someone to help me, finally someone came by. He was a construction worker at the university, but he seemed pissed off that he had to do this. He said "Yeah I'll help you out, but you have to promise never to drive back here again." He shrugged off my thank-yous and swiftly left once he pulled me out. I showed up to class as a sweaty mess.

(2) I distinctly remember one hard September night where I was so tired and sweaty and I arrived to the UCF gym shower right before they closed. While I was showering, a janitor knocked on the door with urgency "we're closed! It's time to get out!" Some anxiety kicked in and I scrubbed faster, dried off and left as quickly as I could feeling ashamed of myself. I felt like Will Smith and his son in the subway bathroom scene of Pursuit of Happiness.

So my last semester in university turned out to be my first four months living out of my truck. When I graduated in December 2021 and finished my documentary series, I was both in celebration and depression with the anniversary of death and change. I spent a month with my parents in complete recovery mode. Once that got old, I packed the truck up and started a long journey out West with no destination in mind.

END OF PART I - More Instagram photos and graduation writing here.