“Everybody has a legacy. Everybody has a birthright. You have to believe in your legacy and confirm it and practice and maintain and nurture it. You have to use it, or you’ll lose it. Without it, what is your life? What is the purpose of your existence? What is your mark on the universe? Where is your place?
The legacy I inherited is a Volkswagen camper that my parents bought in 1972. It is the vehicle that still carries and guides me. It keeps going, and so I keep going too. In the beginning, we thought we had a lemon on our hands. The car broke down when it was brand-new with less than a thousand miles on the engine. But like they say, when life gives you lemons... make lemonade! Don’t complain. Make the best of the situation, and you’ll never regret it.
Whatever your story is, no matter how inconsequential you judge your life to be, no matter how little or how burdensome you think your lot in life is, you must embrace what you’ve got. It’s called a lot because it’s A LOT! Ultimately, your legacy is what will save you and carry you through. It’s not up to us what gets thrown into our laps. Better to accept what you are born with and make it work. It might take years before you recognize the big picture and discover the meaning and true beauty of it all.
I wrote Good Car, Ma as a memoir. At times it might have sounded like a eulogy. But the car wasn’t dead yet, and it was foolish of me to believe that its life was over, or that its best years were behind it. I had immortalized the van, saying how great it was; how it was like a member of the family who had always been there for us and had taken care of us through good times and bad. We had depended on it for our survival. But I was worried. I was worried because
writers tend to exaggerate (a little); okay, we exaggerate a lot. We create legends out of everyday facts. Now I was questioning myself. Was I a fraud? I had talked the talk; I had written the words, but did I really believe it all? I was about to find out.
In February of this year, I learned that I’d have to move out of my apartment. I had been living comfortably in the same place for a good portion of my life, believing it would go on forever. I quickly realized it would be impossible to find another home that I could afford. What was I going to do? Live in my van? I couldn’t do that. Are you crazy! But I had no other options - if I wanted to eat. I felt forlorn and abandoned. How the hell did I get here? What was I going to do? Then I thought…how funny. How fateful, how interesting, how ironically divine - that it had come to this: the van was going to be my savior again. Wow - after all these years - what a cosmic trip!
I started watching videos about van-life, learning all the tricks and hacks people utilized to survive in their vehicles. If they could do it, so could I. But I had to get organized quickly, there was no time to mess around. I remembered all the preparations and details my mom had taken before we set off on a big new trip. All the planning and sacrifices and decisions that had to be made. Everything I needed and owned had to fit into the van, nothing more, nothing less. At least it was just me this time, not a family of five like in the old days. I knew I’d be okay. I knew she’d take care of me like she always had. But I was still worried. I was worried about my dignity, about the stigma of existing in a car. I had to get over that. I had to embrace it. After all, this is where fate had delivered me. It was my birthright. It was my car, Ma.
And the van once again had a purpose, and a smile on its face. I smiled too. Really, I had so much to be grateful for. I felt excited. I felt renewed. It dawned on me that I didn’t have to stay where I was anymore; I could go anywhere I wanted. I was free! Most of all, I felt it was all meant to be. That’s my story, my legacy: Living in a van called Destiny.”