A MOTHER & SON NAVIGATE THE OPEN ROAD
Happy Mother’s Day!
We’re sharing some thoughtful perspective from an incredible mom in our Peace Vans Family. Rebecca is a proud owner of an ’85 Westy, a world traveler, and a mother of 7-year-old James. The two have many adventures under their (seat)belts. Rebecca shares how their experiences together on the open road bring them closer, what she teaches her son during these moments of exploration, and what he teaches her along the way.
Discovering things together with my son has always been an overwhelming delight.
It’s the beautiful moments that we share exploring the infinite possibilities of our world—and how it all fits into the universe—that are the true memories I hold deep in my heart. Helping him navigate closer to something that will turn on a lightbulb, that hopefully never turns off, is a source of one of my greatest joys. Lightbulbs that over time, illuminate a room of discovery and passion. Passion to do more. Learn more. See more. Be more.
After all—choosing to be a mother means choosing to be a teacher. Teaching your kids day to day is a full-time job and there is never a shortage of material to work on.
How do we fit in with others?
How do we take care of ourselves?
Our community?
Physically?
Emotionally?
That’s what road trips and outdoor exploration have brought to our lives. We are always learning. When we hop in the van and head down an open road—we’re filling our cup and recharging to continue to learn hard lessons in a world that isn’t always predictable.
We always know what to expect on a road trip. It’s a fun type of learning that we seek out and choose to do when we are able.
Except I just lied—that isn’t true at all! You don’t expect to break down outside of Joshua Tree in the middle of the night and sleep in a gas station parking lot waiting on help to arrive. You don’t expect to arrive to a full campsite and have to find a sneaky spot nearby to spend the night. You don’t expect to break down in Eastern Washington and call Peace Vans (thanks Corey!) to coach you through a quick engine fix to get you home.
Honestly, you don’t expect to have as many problems as you do with your Westfalia … until you suddenly do (where my Vanagon people at?!).
But you also don’t expect on that rare, amazing occasion to fall asleep surrounded by darkness and then wake up to a breathtaking view that wasn’t on the itinerary.
Ok, so let’s try that again—we mostly know what to expect on a road trip. An adventure that doesn’t always result in a learning moment, but also always results in a learning moment (if you know what I mean). Whether it’s learning about something external or internal. It’s a moment we choose to look for when we hop in the van together.
It’s the good moments and the bad moments that bring us closer. As James has gotten older, I actually need his physical help more and more. Especially on the road. Van trips have taught me that he is no longer a baby, but a bigger and bigger kid each day. A kid I can trust to help. I get to teach him that he CAN be trusted and help mom in ways that really matter. He is needed, not just wanted.
He may not always remember these trips—but I will. I look forward to reminding him of them every day as he gets older. Those times we connected, disconnected, and we were present together.
That time we drove from our home in NYC to move to Seattle slightly against our will, but together. That time he caught a frog. That time he roamed the desert hunting lizards. That time he spent 4 hours searching for beach glass and would have gladly spent 4 hours more. That time we danced as the sun set. That time he floated out in an innertube connected by a rope to our waterfront campsite for so long that he started to get a sunburn (bad mom!) and he threw a huge fit when I made him come back in. The time we got a puppy (Muzzy!) who we took camping with us way too early and mom had a meltdown trying to keep everyone alive.
All the times before. All the times in between. All the times that will be after.
Over the years, the trips have become just the two (or three 🐶) of us. I’ve realized that I need James more and more to not only keep me sane, but to literally keep us afloat. To keep us cruising along. We have discovered that we can do so many things on our own. Both “alone together” and “alone separately.” Once upon a time, I had a different partner to learn from and lean on when camping, then slowly that partner became James.
The more and more we get out, the better at it we become. The more unified we become. I was scared at first, just like I was becoming a mom. I started our van adventures close to home. I went to places that felt safe and comfortable that I could easily get help from. Then I began to learn more about the van mechanics and started working on the van myself. It’s a slow process that I’m still working on, but it feels really empowering. Each trip we venture a little farther away. Now, we can do almost anything and get almost anywhere together.
If the open road seems daunting, jump in anyway. Whether others believe in you or not—prove them wrong. Fall, get laughed at, laugh at yourself, pick yourself up, and drive towards something different. Something better. This is one of the greatest lessons I’ve learned in camping, in life, and ultimately in being a mom.
One day in the way way WAY (x1000 if I can help it) distant future, James will leave on his own solo adventure. It will be hard—but what I can hope for is that as his mother, I gave him the tools to get back home full of light, happiness, love, and in one piece.
