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It has been a long time since I have squealed with glee.
But I did.
Last night.
Privacy. It means the world to some. Others look upon it with suspicion, believing that if you are “hiding what you are doing” then you are probably doing something wrong.
I like my privacy. I value it as much as I value money or trust.
For most people and for most of the time, I am an open book. Well, mostly.
I have been told that I push people away and do not understand the mechanics of relationships and intimacy and sharing who I am with other people.
That last comment was made because I was overwhelmed with raw, naked grief after being triggered by a television show. In that moment, my emotional boundaries prevented me from immediately sharing that deeper, wounded part of me. My television companion at the time was insulted.
“You have a tendency to push people away,” was the response, intended as a slap, because I did not share what words defied. A judgement because I prefer to share my naked self when I am ready, not when another thinks I should.
Back to the simple pleasures in life. I am in my sixties and am currently living a “van-life”. Yes, it is a non-traditional life yet I have craved it for longer than I can admit to myself or others.
I have chosen to live on the road; at present my house is a mid-sized SUV wagon. It is so big that it makes me wonder: how much bigger would it need to be so that Mr Google would call it a “large SUV”?
There are six windows and both front and rear windscreen.
Up until last night, when I crawled into my comfy bed, I would use towels to line the windows for privacy. I hung them over the open door then closed the door so that a small part of the towel was noticeable on the outside of the window. There was definitely an element of privacy. I do not fancy strangers looking through my windows as I sleep.
In fact, one of my fears has been that I would waken to find a stranger staring at me through my window. Unfortunately, wet weather and below freezing temperatures, in several towns I stayed in, soaked the towel ends. With nowhere to dry them out – other than paying to use a laundromat – they became wet, smelly towels in my car. I did my best to dry them out by laying them across a plastic tub on the sunny side of the car, but the daytime temperatures did not warm the car enough for them to dry completely. Very unpleasant odours arise from smelly towels.
I was also acutely aware that, wherever I parked my car during the daylight hours, my bedding and backpacks were on display to anyone walking past. Like I said, I like privacy. What I really mean in this context is that I do not like my bedroom – let’s be honest, the back of my car IS my bedroom – being on display for others to notice. On two separate occasions, it has prompted men to approach me and ask if I am living in my car.
I am grateful that neither of them was creepy men; both insisted that I take their mobile numbers and call them if I ever needed assistance on the road. One of them maintains almost daily contact with me just to make sure I am safe. That’s probably because he is also living on the road. I appreciate his check-ins.
I tried sunshades, but they are virtually see-through on the back and the side windows. Great for daylight use. But at night, every set of headlights and every person walking past can still see into my car. Trust me, there are heaps of people walking around after dark, so there have been a few occasions where I really felt exposed.
I tried stacking my backpacks and extra bedding against the windows to block out the possibility of prying eyes. When I did manage to cover most of the windows (I clearly do not travel with enough excess baggage to use for this purpose), there are two smaller windows similar to portholes, one on each side. Neither can be opened and without sufficient stacking material, those windows were uncovered most nights. Until last night.
I bought black poster paper from Officeworks and cut out shapes that fit my windows. My inaccuracy with fitting the floppy paper to the windows, even with measuring it against the actual windows, reminded me of the time I tried to make curtains when I was in my twenties. I remember measuring, cutting, and sewing and feeling very excited until I hung them. Imagine my dismay when I discovered the bottom hem was uneven and traced a rising line like the hypotenuse line on a triangle from one end to the other. I did not understand how my perfect measurements could result in such a poorly made curtain. I never tried again as I was completely stumped as to how that happened.
Almost similar issues with my cardboard privacy screens. But with persistence, and more paper, I managed to cover both rear passenger windows and both portholes. I still haven’t figured out how to create a screen for the back windscreen, so for now, I use a towel, hung horizontally in the door jamb.
With the portholes and rear windows and rear windscreen covered, I felt safe when I crawled in. Safe and secluded. I also felt bold and empowered for solving the issue with a simple fix. Especially when I realised that me and my bedding and backpacks were not visible to outside eyes.
Snuggled under my doona*, I was so happy with finally having the privacy I craved, that I squirmed and squealed with glee. My happiness level was so high I could not sleep instantly. Instead, I lay awake reading my Kindle and relishing my new cave-like space. When I was finally ready for sleep, I slept deeply and woke feeling refreshed. A simple fix that cost me about fifteen Australian dollars. But privacy is priceless. It is a simple thing, but what a difference it makes.
Christine Writer 
