I used to live in a small camper van. I didn’t have to pay to park it. I didn’t need to earn money to maintain it. I had no responsibilities to anyone for it. There was nothing to do except whatever I chose to do. Nobody was expecting anything from me. There was nowhere I had to be. I could do whatever I wanted; smoke, write, walk, watch something. There was even a natural spring nearby where I could fill up my water tank. Was this freedom? Is being free the same as feeling free? While I felt free in many ways, unlike others who lived in a similar way, I stayed in the same place instead of moving around, because it had everything I needed so I could do what I wanted to do. I stayed put because it felt right and I liked it. In fact I even got a letter delivered, sent by a friend to see if it would arrive, brought to me by a post office worker, addressed to ‘the white van’ in the middle of the waste ground! I was a local landmark. I would walk 10-14 miles each day; into town, to the shops, along the coastal path. It kept me fit & active. I did as I pleased, found and used what I needed, my resourcefulness increased a lot, but otherwise I lived a fairly mundane life, accepting that I no longer had certain things I’d previously taken for granted. The secret was acceptance. Not wanting what I didn’t have. Not focussing on something missing. Not just trying to change it. Accepting things as they were. Living in the present as much as possible. For the first few weeks I would’ve done anything to go home. Yet once I became used to it, there was something I really liked about it. Each day appeared the same, and I often had nothing to look forward to, but it didn’t seem to matter. Does that mean I was free? Freedom is a state of mind not a physical circumstance. I was comfortable and had what I needed. I could live how I wanted. I could decide on a whim, act on an idea. You might say yes to that. You might not have liked the smallness of my living space though. There were sometimes other vehicles there, some a little bigger that were better for living in. But what I had was what I had, and even though I would not have chosen it had I known I would be living in it, it was still home. It made me step up my game, do things differently, figure things out, become more of myself just from having no choice but to. I did what I had to do. I kept things organised and clean. I didn’t liked the responsibility of ownership, and knew how expensive it could be to repair and maintain. But I could afford it. Not everyone would feel content in such a small space, give up their big screen TV, Wi-Fi, toilet, shower, fridge, etc, and I did find myself missing each of them from time to time. I loved it when someone turned up unexpectedly though, but I was definitely retreating, letting go of the world, as much as I could, and was always happy to return to it after the day was done. I listened to a LOT of teachings, not so much for the words, although they could be revelatory, but for the sense of peace and presence they gave me. With a little bud, that was my favourite thing to do. I knew I was escaping sometimes, but then so what? I didn’t choose the life, I just found myself in it. I never wanted most of what the world had to offer anyway, although I still had a laptop and phone. I was a 21st century recluse after all. I feel lucky to have experienced that life. I resisted it for ages. But by the end I was very grateful for it. It served a real purpose for the few years I was in it. Can’t ask for more than that.