I sit cross-legged in the back of my truck, bringing the pot of water on my butane stove to a boil. The rear hatch is open for ventilation, and I hunch over the folding table under the ceiling of my truck, looking out onto the lazy sundown scene of frisbees and fire puts at Dockweiler State Beach. A young couple walks past arm-in-arm, the girl wide eyed as she peeks into my window. “There’s a person in there!” she whispers to her boyfriend. I’m accustomed to the reactions. My concern at the moment is dinner, and in staying true to my $20/day food budget, my day’s final meal is an undergraduatesque bowl of instant ramen.

Dedication has its price, but despite the austerity of my rations the view leaves me content.

Mobile living has its pros and cons. Doing so on a budget limits the excitement of spontaneity, capping the amount of visits to the Whole Foods hot bar or dining out with friends, but moments like this remain a constant in my routine. Wherever I land for the night, I make sure to work in some form of delight. Sweeping vistas, valuable privacy, or just staying off the road after having one too many, keeping my truckhome affords the luxury of bedding down where I please.

Tonight I write from the breezy elevated roadside on the coast of Playa Del Rey. It’s my first time in this spot. After having spent the day watching World Cup quarterfinal action with a friend and touring westside Home Depots in search of a fix for my shorted-out power inverter, it seemed a logical choice. I feel fortunate turning an afternoon of chores into a new treat. It’s one of the perks of my now two months of full-time dwelling in the truck.

But the lifestyle has its downsides, too.

Mobile has been much more challenging than living out of the office. Maintaining secrecy from your coworkers may seem tough, but once the details fall into place maintaining it became routine. And that is exactly what I find is the most difficult part of this lifestyle that I’ve chosen for the time being. During a time in which I’m juggling multiple creative projects, each demanding a lot of my time, I’m finding it hard to maintain a cohesive routine. I have no desk with organize post-it lists, no set schedule to dictate available work times, no direct access to conveniences to aide in productivity.

I am still happy with my choice to live this way. It allows me to live frugally while I create things I always dreamed of creating. (For those not familiar, I’m working on a book, a film, and the development of a television series.) But I do receive questions about the rigors of living this way, so I thought it useful to jot down a list of the five most challenging parts of this lifestyle. From my point of view. Here goes:

1. Lack of Routine
   * The inherent changes of nomadic living, no matter how localized, keeps the familiarity of routine at bay. While this is a welcome freedom for independence of thought (and a slew of other fun, spontaneous things), the nomad is much more likely to forget what he has to do than he is to work through tasks efficiently.
2. Limited On-Hand Necessities
   * Water. Food. Restroom. Shower. Stored items. These all require regular travel to obtain. Never do I spend an entire day in one spot. It’s impossible. While the change of scenery is sometimes pleasant, I often spend time or lose track of to-do’s or waste artistic inspiration because I’ve got to drive to the store or the gym for a thing. It’s a drag on my productivity.
3. Finite Climate Control
   * Summers in Southern California can be hot. If I don’t wake up parked under the shade of a tree, the heat of the sun summons me by 9am–and sometimes earlier–regardless of what time I went to bed. During the day, I’m compelled to find libraries, coffee shops, and cafes which provide a/c. Though I have plans to add a moonroof to the truck for added ventilation, as it stands this makes it harder to follow my creative whims.
4. A Constant Need for Power Sources
   * As it stands, I operate off my car battery and tablet-sized foldout solar charger. Larger auxiliary power options leave a lot to be desired. Solar panel systems are cumbersome, expensive, and inefficient. Generators are loud and costly. Backup car batteries are pricey and limited in use. While I’ll probably employ one of the above systems soon, for now a low-batter laptop or iPad means finding a business with an outlet. Babysitting charging devices is not always ideal.
5. No Permanent Street Address
   * Only recently has this become an issue. Two months ago I received in my PO Box a late notice on a parking ticket. Even though I’d never seen earlier notices, the fine on the ticket had doubled. Upon investigation, I found that the original ticket (instead of being placed on my windshield) was sent to my most recent street address. As you can imagine, resolving this was a huge headache. Pretty soon I’ll have to renew my driver’s license and the registration on my truck. Since I won’t have a permanent street address by then, I’ll have to enlist the help of a friend. Let’s hope I don’t get any more invisible tickets in the meanwhile.

• Honorable Mention:
  When your vehicle is in the shop; limited wifi due to data limits; long-term parking when you fly out of town; bringing someone ‘back to your place’; when the city decides to shower your car with reclaimed water IMMEDIATELY AFTER YOU WASHED YOUR CAR because the overnight sprinklers are so powerful they reach halfway across the road (aren’t we in a water crisis, people??) because apparently we need to hydrate our asphalt, wtf; waking up panicked to the noise of sprinklers the night after you wash your car; ants

That about covers it.

The truth is that I’m still smitten with these cozy nights spent in the comfort of my own truck. The luxuries afforded to me aren’t material, but the benefits–time, freedom, agency–for now outweigh the negatives. But I’m keeping an eye on things. At one point my situation will change and then I will be ready to give up my sunset evenings for a more… predictable situation.

Or will I?

– TOH