Abigail Joselyn, a self-described “extrovert,” says she used to rarely do anything, including buying groceries, solo. That is until the (now) 26-year-old decided to throw caution to the wind, quit her promising accounting job, buy a van, and live in it while traveling around the country. Joselyn says the journey has been pretty lonely during the last two years, but she never regrets her decision: The solitude has made her a stronger, more resilient person. Here’s her story, as told to associate health conditions director Julia Sullivan.
After earning my master’s degree in 2021, I immediately got my CPA and started working at a major accounting firm in Lakeland, Florida—one of the “Big Four.” Though I took pride in my performance and was good at what I did, I was miserable, logging super-long hours. I remember my mom saying to me at one point, “When you’re not working, you’re a completely different person.” My career was sucking all of the joy from my life.
During this time, I started going on excursions any time I had a long holiday weekend—I was desperate for a break. On one trip in particular with a friend, we started talking about “van life”—nomadic solo travelers who live, and explore the country, in their vehicles. We followed some people on social media who posted about it, but it never clicked in my brain that it was something I could do until that conversation. (I had never even been camping in general, let alone traveled anywhere by myself!)
When I got back home, “van life” was just something I just couldn’t get out of my mind. I’m a pretty impulsive person—I thought, Why not me? Why couldn’t I do something like this? So I told my parents I wanted to (a) buy and build out an empty van, and (b) see if my job would let me work remotely on the road. Of course, they (especially my dad) figured it was a “whim” kind of thing. I had what everyone wanted, right? Why would I try to blow up my life like that? I just knew I couldn’t stay on my current path for much longer. Something needed to change.
About two months after returning from that trip, I began test-driving vehicles and got really excited. This felt like something I could actually do. I think my parents were still a little skeptical, but after I made a down payment on one, things suddenly became real. In the next few months, they helped me put in 20 or more hours per week to build out my new four-wheeled home. My job was surprisingly on board—(they agreed to let me work fully remote). However, I knew I wouldn’t have the experience I wanted—or the energy to do this—if I was still working a ton of hours each week. So with some money saved up (and the hope that I could make a little more by boosting my social media presence), I quit my job and prepared to set out on the road for at least a year, I told myself, to see if this was something I could achieve.
Abigail Joselyn
Abigail Joselyn
My mom joined me for the first 16 days, traveling from Asheville, North Carolina (where my parents were located), to the California coast. It was a really special, beautiful trip. I think because she was with me, it didn’t feel real at first. When my mom finally left, I remember crying the entire day. I was so afraid. I recall finding a little spot on the California beach to park the first night by myself, unsure where I’d go next. I realized I wasn’t going home anytime soon. This tiny van was my home now.
The next morning, I decided to pack up and head to Joshua Tree National Park in California. Again, I wasn’t *really* sure what I was doing (and everything still felt so overwhelming), but one evening in that area, when I was making dinner, a girl and her dog walked past me. She mentioned that she and her friends—other people living in vans—were having a bonfire later that evening, and invited me. We all clicked straight away, and those people are some of my closest friends today. Sure, I did this as a self-discovery journey, hoping to find out who I truly was. But I had no idea the kind of community around it.
Of course, that hasn’t always been the case. In those early days, before I built up a friend group of other Van-Lifers, I was lonely a lot—particularly during holidays. We’re not big on them in my family, but I recall my mom calling me on Christmas Day when I was alone in White Sands National Park in New Mexico. After we hung up, I watched a bunch of families sliding down the sand dunes, laughing and having fun. I started sobbing.
While moments like that have been (and still sometimes are) hard for me, I have to remind myself that this was my choice. I don’t have to be alone—I can drive anywhere and see anyone I want, at any time. That’s a big deal, because a lot of people might think living solo in a van would be scary. I actually felt more afraid of being by myself in an apartment, or even walking home from the bars! Sure, I’ve had a couple of unnerving experiences on the road—particularly in cities. But I could simply…drive away. If someone knocks on my door when my window covers are up, I just jump into the driver’s seat and leave. I’m always moving, so it feels less scary.
In that sense, I’ve discovered one beautiful part of this solitary lifestyle: When I go somewhere, it’s because I *actually* want to do it. I don’t drop in on friends or catch scenery across the country because it’s convenient—I carve time out and make an effort. Still, that freedom can come with major decision fatigue. I always tell people: You can have a lazy night in a van, but you can never have a lazy day. There are so many things you have to plan, from figuring out where I can park at night to mapping out my route each day. Speaking of: Being sick is really brutal because you still have so many chores and so much to do. Even when I feel awful, I still have to go to the grocery store, fill my water tank, and dump my portable compost toilet. Those are days where I’m like, Wow, life would be so easy to just live in a house, to get something delivered, and to relax. It can be a lot.
Then there’s dating, which has been…challenging. You have to make compromises to make relationships work, and to live this kind of lifestyle, you have to be a little selfish. I’ve dated a few people who also live in vans, but it’s such a small community. I recently got out of a relationship with a stationary girl, who I’d drive or fly to see. But schedule-wise, it doesn’t add up: I have so much freedom, and she didn’t. It’s just hard.
Abigail Joselyn
I’ve been on the road for two years, and I plan to do it for another two. Beyond that point, I’d love to own a small piece of land and build a tiny little home on it—I don’t think I could go back to the way things were. But I don’t think I could ever sell my van. I have such special memories of building it with my parents.
For someone who might want to try something like this: You don’t have to go from nothing to living in a van. You can plan solo hikes, or even just go to a restaurant to eat by yourself. Every little thing you do alone, no matter how big or small, will build your confidence. Before this journey, I was afraid to be by myself. Now, when I see a hike I really want to do, I go out and actually do it—no companion necessary. That was never me before. Our society makes us feel stuck, but that’s never the case.
This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.
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