10 Things No One Tells You About Your First Month in a Van
Everyone talks about the beauty of van life—but no one prepares you for those first few messy, emotional weeks. From second-guessing everything to crying in a parking lot, here’s what your first month on the road really feels like… and why it’s 100% worth it.
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When people think about van life, they picture golden hour sunsets, coffee mugs held against panoramic mountain views, and a blissful escape from the 9-to-5. And yes, those moments are real. They’re part of what drew me in years ago, when I gave up a $1,650/month apartment in Mill Valley and moved into a Prius to reclaim my freedom and pay off my debt.
But here’s what no one tells you: the first month in a campervan or a car? It’s not all serene boho vibes and perfect Instagram shots. It’s raw. It’s confusing. It’s humbling. And it’s where the real transformation begins.
Let’s talk about what really happens when you hit the road for the first time.
1. You’ll Second-Guess Everything

“Did I make a huge mistake?”
“Should I have just stayed in my apartment?”
“Why is everything so hard?”
These thoughts will creep in, usually around day three when you’re exhausted, can’t find a afe place to park, and have no idea how to actually shower. It’s normal. In fact, I call it the “detox period” — the uncomfortable transition from structure to freedom. Your nervous system is used to walls, routines, hot showers, and outlets that don’t require a solar setup. Give yourself grace. You didn’t mess up — you’re just in the messy middle.
2. You’ll Realize How Much You Don’t Know

Even if you’ve watched every YouTube video and pinned a hundred van life checklists, nothing quite prepares you for living it.
- How to fill your water tank and where to find water
- Where to stealth camp without getting the knock at 2 a.m.
- How to take a shower when you only have a solar shower with nobody to help you fill it
These are the kinds of things you only learn by doing, and usually the hard way. When I first started living in a van (my Chevy Astro), I was surprised by how different it felt. Everything felt way more challenging, like showering, cooking, and doing dishes.
And yet… every mistake is a lesson. A rite of passage, really.
3. Routines Become Your Lifeline

One of the biggest misconceptions about van life is that it’s structureless. And while yes, there’s freedom, there’s also a need for rhythm.
Something as simple as:
- Coffee (always)
- Read the newspaper on my iPad or my Kindle
- Make the bed
- Check water and battery levels
- Plan the next parking spot
These types of routines can ground you. Without some kind of flow, days blur, and decision fatigue sets in hard. You’ll discover your own rhythm and it will help you stay sane.
4. Everything Takes Longer

Cooking dinner? Add 20 minutes for setting up your stove and realizing your olive oil slid behind the fridge.
Washing dishes? Better hope you’re not low on water and you have somewhere to dump your gray water.
Finding parking? Might take an hour, tons of U-turns, and checking iOverlander a million times.
But here’s the thing: van life forces you to slow down. It’s not efficient — but that’s kind of the point. You begin to savor your coffee, your meals, even the quiet. The urgency fades. And something deeper takes its place.
5. You’ll Cry in a Parking Lot

Or in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road with no cell signal. Or sitting behind the steering wheel wondering what the hell you’re doing with your life.
And that’s okay.
The tears come when your expectations crash into reality. When the loneliness hits. When the van feels more like a prison than a promise. I’ve cried when I’ve felt dirty and desperately wanted a hot, long shower. But each time I let the tears flow, I came out stronger — and more clear about why I chose this life in the first place.
6. Tiny Wins Will Feel Huge

When you do find that quiet, free campsite? It feels like you won the lottery.
When you make a one-pot meal that’s actually delicious and doesn’t burn? You’ll fist-pump the sky.
When you manage to time your errands, do your laundry, and get in workout at Planet Fitness, all in one afternoon? Superhero status.
Out here, the little things are the big things. And celebrating those wins helps you build momentum and confidence.
7. You’ll Miss Comforts You Didn’t Expect

For me? It was a couch. I missed sprawling out at the end of the day. I missed a full-size fridge where I didn’t have to Tetris my vegetables around a yogurt container.
You might miss long showers. Not having to think about where you’ll sleep tonight. The comfort and security that only four walls can bring.
These feelings don’t mean you’re doing it wrong — they mean you’re adjusting. You’re noticing how many conveniences you used to take for granted… and figuring out how to live well with less.
8. You’ll Learn What You Actually Need

By the fourth week, I was giving stuff away.
That extra throw blanket? Gone.
The second pair of hiking boots? Donated.
The over-the-sink cutting board that never quite fit right? Back in the bin.
Van life is the ultimate filter. Every item you own gets weighed by how often you use it, how much space it takes, and whether it sparks genuine utility. You become a minimalist by necessity….and it’s freeing.
9. You’ll Start to Feel the Freedom

One day, you’ll be driving through a canyon. Or along the coast. Or parked beside a field of wildflowers.
You’ll sip your coffee, windows open, and think:
Oh. This is why I did it.
It happens slowly. After the learning curve. After the tears. After the moments of “what am I doing?” The sense of freedom settles in. And once it does? It’s hard to imagine going back.
10. It Gets Better

The first month is awkward. Uncertain. Sometimes overwhelming.
But it gets better.
You learn. You adapt. You get stronger. And one day you’ll realize that somehow, you feel more at home in 80 square feet than you ever did in 1,800.
Should You Do Van Life?
Van life isn’t always easy. But it is worth it.
No one talks about the transition — the identity unraveling, the discomfort, the grief for a life you intentionally left behind. But if you’re in it, if you’re doubting yourself, if you’re crying behind the wheel, know this:
You’re not failing.
You’re just doing something brave.
And soon? You’ll look back at that messy first month and smile — because it’s where the real journey began.
Thank you.
I’m 65 years old and my doctor told me that I have a prostate cancer.
I live in Canada but I sure would like to travel to USA. Something is holding me back.