A Sedona New Year

It’s hard to believe that 2020, which at times felt endless, has finally come to a close.  Unlike years past, this year I didn’t pop champagne, watch fireworks, or celebrate New Year’s Eve with friends or family.  Instead, I sat around a campfire, a mug of tea in hand, amongst a group of strangers who were also spending the night camped off of Coconino Forest Road 761B right outside Sedona, Arizona.  

“How’d you get here? And, where are you headed?” 

I’ve come to learn that asking this set of questions is standard procedure when encountering another van traveller.  Though seemingly simple, they encompass so much.  

Going around the fire, we took turns sharing how we came to be there.  Where we’re from, how and why we started van life, the places we’ve been, the routes we’ve taken, and the mishaps that have happened along the way.  The group ranged from newbies like me with our “quarantine builds” to a couple of seasoned veterans who had been living in their van for three years.

Despite all being strangers, I felt at ease watching the fire dance in front of us as we compared our electric and solar setups, van layouts, how we shower or rather don’t, compostable versus portable toilets, favorite van meals, and recent hikes and bike rides in the area.  It was the first time I had been in a group of people where I didn’t need to justify or explain this lifestyle.  They all got it. 

As New Year’s approached, it felt more like a formality than a celebration, a romanticized new beginning, or a time to set resolutions that would soon be forgotten.  It was similar to the sensation I’ve had as I’ve driven into new time zones.  Though the numbers on the clock change, the rising and setting of the sun still determined the length of my day. 

I’ve always considered New Year’s to be one of the most over hyped holidays.  I tend to find myself let down when it hits midnight and the ball finally drops.  I’m filled with the same disappointment I get on my birthday when I wake up expecting to feel different, older, or some internal shift, but don’t. 

2020 was a challenging year to say the least.  It affected every single person in a different way. Despite how difficult, painful, and sad of a time it was and continues to be in our country, I will always be grateful for the opportunities to learn, time with my family, and self-reflection that came out of it.  

One of the most important things this year has taught me is to listen to myself and follow my heart.  Perhaps part of the reason I was hesitant to set resolutions and goals for 2021 was because these ~unprecedented times~ have totally altered our perceptions and adjusted our expectations of what’s possible and what can happen in a given year. The beginning of my van journey represented a new beginning for me, and I’ve come to realize that big changes, goals and resolutions don’t need to revolve around a calendar year (though if you’re going to set manifestations I do recommend using the full moon).  Similar to how I’ve been making plans as I travel, I plan on approaching 2021 day by day.  Controlling the controllables, accepting the rest, and embracing the present moment.

If there is a lesson to be taken away from 2020, it’s not to take anything for granted. Everyday I wake up, even if I’m a little cold, grateful.  Grateful that I am safe, grateful for my breakfast of hot mush, grateful for Churro’s companionship, grateful for our home on wheels, grateful for the warmth of the rising sun, and grateful knowing that there is an adventure waiting for me to finish my coffee. 

Back at the campfire, it’s my turn to share where I’m headed.  After four days in Sedona soaking in the energy, the beauty of the red rocks, and the moonlight, I’m braving the cold and continuing north to explore the Grand Canyon, Vermillion Cliffs,  Lake Powell, and Southern Utah’s National Parks as I make my way towards Colorado.  Beyond that, I’m still figuring it out.  

I’m not sure where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing at the end of 2021.  Then again at the start of 2020 I could never have imagined that I would be here.  By surrendering completely to the journey, the previously anxiety inducing idea of not knowing has been replaced by an excitement for the unknown.  Just as I hadn’t needed to explain or apologize for the fact that I hadn’t showered recently, my new friends around the campfire on journeys of their own understood.  As John Steinbeck said, “We don’t take a trip. A trip takes us.”