Victoria Reeves

Writer, Artist and Coach Victoria Reeves has experimented with expression her whole life. Her funny and reflective stories explore unlimited possibility, reinvention, and living off-grid. A professional storyteller, she performs across Chicagoland. Her “Living in FLOW” story is an excerpt from her upcoming memoir. Once the snow melts, you can find Victoria camping across the country in her converted cargo van! A digital native and Writing Coach, she has worked with 500+ clients globally on Business and Creative Writing. Starting with 3 questions (Who are you? What are your skills? What’s your why?) - they begin the writing process. Victoria also empowers others on their creative journeys through her CREATIVITY LAB - an immersive virtual experience for women. 

“I have no idea why I’m doing this, but I’m having fun!” I shout to myself, as I lay here shivering. 20℉. This is going to be a long night. Deep animal grunts repeatedly bellow just outside. Unhh. Unhh. Unhh. So close.

Ever since I can remember, my curiosity has been greater than my fear. In my 20’s and 30’s, I traveled (mostly) solo: backpacking in 15 countries and Amtraking across the American West. Scraping by as a freelancer, I was an OG budget traveler.

Now, at 59, my tenacious need for adventure still propels me. Calls me. Invites me. 

I hit the gym regularly, but my days of lugging a heavy backpack through train stations are over. Sleeping in crowded hostels? No thanks. Seeking solace and spontaneity, my mode of travel is now a 2023 Ram ProMaster Cargo van named FLOW.

I plug the 12V electric blanket into my 1000W Jackery Power Station. It’s 1am and pitch dark. My van is parked in the driveway of a rural farm house near Rensselaer, IN, which belongs to a couple I met on the Boondockers Welcome app. When I arrived last night, we spoke of National Parks, the high desert, and long road trips. Kindred spirits.

My plan is to wake early and drive 25 minutes through misty cornfields to the Jasper Pulaski Fish and Wildlife Area. Standing on an elevated, wooden blind, I’ll observe 30,000 Sandhill Cranes as they feed and dance along with the sunrise. If you time it right, you can see them glide majestically onto these frozen marshlands, stopping to rest and replenish on their annual migration South. 

This adventure is not for the faint of heart. The FWA is in the middle of nowhere and it’s incredibly cold in November. But for me, hearing the cranes' loud bugles in the distance and then watching as thousands of grayish-brown wings coast and gracefully land is magical. The path to this particular Indiana destination, located along the Mississippi Flyway, has been passed down by crane elders for generations. I feel honored to participate in their migration journey. Visceral, primal, eternal - it connects me to something much greater than myself.

This trip is a migration of sorts for me too. Year #2 of driving down to the Jasper Pulaski FWA in my white, converted camper van. This time I’m more prepared.

“Ok. You need to stay warm for another 4 hours. Once the sun rises and you make some tea, it will be bearable. Hang in there, girl.” I whisper to myself, pulling my orange merino wool hat down over my ears. 

Turning on the Maxxair rooftop fan, I release some of the condensation built up from cooking and breathing in my metal camper for the last 7 hours. I tuck my feet under a combo of electric blanket, 30 below sleeping bag and Ecuadorian wool poncho. The poncho acts as a top barrier, and the layers of blankets keep all my body heat contained. Adjusting my teal, insulated sleeping pad, I protect myself from the frigid air below. Any exposed skin hurts in seconds. 

You might be thinking, “This sounds insane! Why don’t you just go to a hotel?” 

Well, because I don’t want to. FLOW (my van) IS my hotel. She is also my restaurant, work space, and art studio. My portable world. I can stop anywhere to camp, eat, work, create, live. Everything I need is within an arm’s reach in this small, 5’x7’ space. 

The simplicity of my tetris-like design fills me with so much joy. Assembling this nomadic tiny home took me a year. Between measuring, testing and utilizing, each item in here has passed rigorous criteria. It must be affordable, have multiple functions and be able to collapse, fold or tuck away for ‘day mode’ or ‘night mode’. 

I lay there trying to figure out what that repetitive “Unhh, Unhh, Unhh” grunting sound is outside. I’m not worried, just wondering. Is it a deer, elk, or cow? I am on a farm after all. I debate about turning on the ignition to get heat circulating inside the cabin, but this would involve getting out of my warm cocoon. 

“I’ll wait until the outdoor temps rise a few degrees.” I mumble into the sleeping bag.

Even a slight shift in temps is apparent when the only thing between you and the outside air is some wool insulation and a steel frame. Next to tent camping, van life in four seasons is truly roughing it.

I love traveling solo like this. It gives me lots of time to think slow thoughts. Thoughts that had to wait on the back burner for years, like a subconscious undercurrent, now boldly emerge. They are ready to get the attention they deserve. 

Sometimes, I challenge myself not to listen to podcasts or the radio, but to dial into my own internal broadcast instead. It can be intense, facing my SELF in this way, but it’s part of the spiritual homework I need to do right now.  

The hours pass by slowly as I drift in and out of sleep. In my mind's eye, I visualize all the rural outposts, small towns, campgrounds, beaches, and forests that FLOW has taken me to since I completed my build. Feels like she has been my “road dog” forever, but actually it’s only been two years since my van life dream became a reality.

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It’s 2022. Our grown son has been living in NYC for 4 years. My days of full-time momming are delightfully over. I no longer have the responsibility of caring for sick parents. My time is finally my own. My husband Johnny is healthy as an ox, very independent and supportive of my ongoing quest for reinvention. 

Serial entrepreneurs, we spend time in our studios:  exploring, crafting, marketing.  Our vintage apartment is filled with world music, candles and incense. Fueled by coffee and inspiration, our days are spent curiously pushing the boundaries of what’s possible.

I reject the “How’s the empty nest going?” queries and instead decide to label this chapter my Invitation to Creative Metamorphosis. Which it is. The only person I really have to think about now is ME. I am giddy with excitement and wake at 5am each day infused with intention.

“I’ve figured out what to do with part of my inheritance!” I say to Johnny over breakfast one day. “I’m gonna buy an empty cargo van and build it out into a camper.”

“Ok….” he replies, trying to see if I’m really serious. “What kind of van?”

“No idea. I’ve been binge-watching these “Bob Wells Cheap RV Living” videos on YouTube. This dude has been living nomadically for over 15 years! He migrates from the desert to the mountains year-round. Complete boondocking. Badass!”

I’m glowing - ecstatic at the thought of living simply and cheaply. If I had a van, I could drive and camp anywhere from Canada to Brazil - weather permitting. 

“That sounds right up your alley, babe. What’s boondocking?” Johnny queries, stroking my hair and looking into my Soul.

“Boondocking is living totally off-grid. You organize your rig to provide your own power, water, toilet, food, everything. Once I do it, I’ll be able to camp anywhere, with no hook-ups, and often for free.” 

Johnny, a risk-taker like me, is also a black belt who grew up on Chicago’s South Side. “What about safety? You can't just camp anywhere, Vic.”

I take a bite of my Greek yogurt. Exhale. The complexity of it all hits me. Craving autonomy and confidence, I need him to feel comfortable too. I put myself in his shoes. 

“I'll probably stay at KOA campgrounds in the beginning. It’s a subculture, babe, just like when we backpacked across SE Asia. I just need to get out there and learn the ropes.”

Johnny smiles. “You got this. Tell me more about this Bob Wells guy.”

For the next 45 minutes, I go on and on about Bob Wells - the guru of nomadic living on a budget. Not retirees in $200K RVs, but regular folks with small rigs and big dreams. I tell Johnny everything I've learned from the Cheap RV Living channel so far. 

Like how you can convert school buses, cargo vans, or even ambulances into campers using simple, everyday materials. Covering your windows with Reflectix insulation to keep out the heat or cold. Using a 5 gallon bucket with bags ańd pine pellets as a portable toilet. Pink ZOTE bar soap from Mexico to wash your body and dishes. Calculating how many amp hours a Jackery Power Station needs for certain electronics. I’ve landed in an entirely new world of self-sufficiency and creative problem solving. Synapses firing. All systems go. This makes sense.  

My mind envisions open roads and endless exploration. Staying at low cost campsites and prepping my own food, I can afford to travel for months at a time. As long as I have access to the internet, I can still coach my writing clients from the road. My work is completely remote so I can make money AND travel. If the weather shifts or I don't like a certain place, I can just drive somewhere else. 

THIS IS IT!!!!  My next iteration. My liberation tour. 

After spending the last 18 years caring for everyone else, it’s my turn to shine. 

“I say go for it! You’ve been waiting for a sign of what to do with your inheritance for years. The money you spend on the van will be worth it. When it's done, you can go anywhere. Skies the limit, really.” Wow. He gets me. 

I hold Johnny tightly, smiling from ear to ear. 

He’s incredibly supportive, but I expected some flack on this one. How many husbands would encourage their wives to travel solo on the open road? Understanding my insatiable need for change, he knows I delight in facing and overcoming challenges.

Later that day, I begin to map out my plan. Prep a cup of ginger-honey tea and drip eucalyptus oil into my infuser (for clarity). I sit down at my computer and open a new Google doc file. I decide to call it: VAN LIFE DREAM PROJECT (all caps). 

I’m on a roll. Ok, let’s map out areas: a place to sleep, eat, work, get dressed. I need practical and funky storage systems for my clothes, food, dishes, tools, and all-weather gear. Non-negotiable? A comfortable and beautiful living space. How about forest green, ocean blue, and chestnut brown accents? Fela Kuti blaring in my headphones, I scroll through spectacular Pinterest #vanlife pages. Inspired. Visualizing. Happy.

In order to get organized, I create this table: 

power station flooring lights art area campsites 

insulation/heat sleeping gear washing area clothes safety 

cooling systems kitchen working/desk toilet destinations

Now I have a plan. For the next 4 months, I deep dive into all things VAN. I am so into it. At one point I am so obsessed that Johnny and I create a safe word (“PAUSE”). Whenever he says “pause”, I have to stop talking about FLOW or find another willing ear!

I join this Facebook page called Road Trip Her which has 12K members. Global, hardcore van lifers who live in their rigs year-round. I scour posts about their favorite routes, choosing campgrounds or cooking campfire meals. Days turn into nights as I research gear and read Amazon reviews. My Google Doc expands into 20 pages. 

One afternoon I drive up to the Northbrook REI, in search of bedding solutions. 

Dave, a veteran salesman and 20 year Cub Scout Leader, walks me through sub zero sleeping bags, Helix pads that insulate you from below, and the science of layering. Between him, Bob Wells and my new friends on Facebook, I feel so taken care of. I’m a novice camper, but an experienced traveler with this intense passion to learn.

The future stretches out before me. Tenacious Victoria is coming back. It’s about time. 

The me that made lunches, did school drop offs and cared for sick parents is receding in the rear view mirror. I’m starting to feel less guilty about wanting things for myself. This is a long time coming. That inheritance did a number on me. My dad worked so hard, rarely enjoyed his life and then got lung cancer and died right after retirement. With so many mixed feelings, I never touched my inheritance for years. 

But you know what? Now I’m starting to realize that it’s my money. Dad wanted me to have it. It’s ok for me to spend it. And hey, maybe this ‘freedom tour’ can be a celebration of my dad too.

“I love you dad!” I exclaim, as I journal about my feelings. “You’ll be with me in spirit.”

Things are coming together. Even though I don't have a van yet, I begin purchasing gear. An act of faith. My personal “if you build it - they will come.” I am possessed. 

I buy a small stove and 3 butane canisters at Walmart. Standing at our backyard table, I practice cooking scrambled eggs and stir fry veggies on my one-burner Coleman.

Next is a 3 gallon water jug, Jackery Power Station, Reflectix, a dry bag, Red Cross kits, and a GSI outdoor cookware set. I’ve spent about $2000 already and I’m good. It’s weird. This is TOTALLY out of character for me.

I’m the one who debates every purchase. Used to make my family drink water instead of soda when we went out. Cooks at home and repairs everything. Frugal. Practical. A bit fearful. But somehow buying gear for FLOW just feels right. I deserve it.

I know in my gut that this van will change me in ways I can’t even imagine right now. For once, I allow myself to enjoy spending money on what I really want and need.

My garage is filling up with camping equipment but I STILL DON’T HAVE A VAN!!!!

Secretly, I feel a bit crazy. I'm looking everywhere but the vans I find are either too tall for our garage or way too expensive. The used ones look crappy and have 100K+ miles on them. There is no way I will be stranded on the side of the road due to a bad decision. I want to buy a new, American-made van that can be repaired even in remote locations.

Then one day, at the Evanston Farmers Market, I see this tiny, red delivery van that says Kombucha Brava on the side. Standing next to it, I realize it is about 6’ tall. It could fit in my garage! It’s parked behind a white market tent. I ask the tattooed kombucha vendor if I can look inside. She says yes. 

Woah. It’s an open-concept commercial cargo van with 12V outlets. A clean slate. A metal box with wheels. The front seat area looks like a lush cockpit with 4 cup holders.

I am freaking out. This could work! I read the nameplate: Ram ProMaster City….

“Thanks for showing me! How does it drive?” I ask, hoping for a great review.

“Like a dream. I haul heavy equipment to markets all over and never had a problem,” she says, keeping an eye out for customers. “The total payload is about 3000 lbs.”

“Uh, not to sound dumb, but what does payload mean?” I ask, embarrassed.

“Oh, payload refers to the weight inside the van and also how much you can tow.”

As I hand her $5 for a bottle of kombucha, I imagine towing my motorcycle and riding off-road in the desert. “Sweet! I’m thinking of converting it into a camper.”

“Rock on! If you do, come back to the market and show me.” We high five and laugh.

That afternoon, I drive my Suzuki over to the Sherman Dodge Dealership in Skokie, IL. I meet this salesman named AJ who becomes my new best friend. Like my husband, he’s also a DJ. He’s relaxed and has the patience of a saint. There’s only one van in stock and it has been built out with a ramp for handicapped drivers.

“Come on, let’s do a test drive of this one. The front cab is the same so you’ll be able to see how it handles.” AJ says, handing me a bottle of water. It’s 95°F and I’m sweating.

We get in and that’s when I realize there are no back windows. This is a true cargo van.

“How am I supposed to see behind me? I’ve never driven without a rearview mirror.” I say, nervous-excited. Another challenge? Cool. 

“Girl, I saw you pull up to the dealership on a motorcycle. Think about it, on your bike you can’t see directly behind you either. Just use the huge side mirrors. If you need to back up, use the camera and screen on the dash.” he instructs me.

We pull out onto Skokie Highway, turn right onto Oakton Street and into a community center parking lot. AJ shows me how to back into a narrow spot between two parked cars. I love how much he trusts me. My confidence growing, we do 3 more laps (Skokie, Oakton, Crawford) and go back to the dealership.

“How soon can I get one if I order it?” I say - pretty much sold.

“A year. They build the engines in the States and finish up the assembly in Turkey. With COVID and the chip shortage, the wait is long.” AJ is the most chill salesman I’ve met in my life. “Plus vans are really popular right now.”

After that test drive, I go back to Sherman Dodge 4 more times. Needing to visualize my build, I ask AJ to leave me alone with the (parked) test model. He does. I bring a tape measure and measure all of the interior spaces. I practice laying down, kneeling on the floor, and stooping over to ‘walk’ across the back. I practice sitting in the front by myself, pretending I’m driving on the open road. I open and close all the doors many times.

More test drives. Discussions about pricing and add-ons. Convinced, I put down a $5000 deposit and wait for my new van. AJ was right. A year later it’s finally ready. I hand him a money order for the $35,000 balance, sign the papers and hold back happy tears. AJ, Johnny and I take lots of photos.  

The next day I load up all that gear from the garage and drive FLOW out to the Somme Woods Forest Preserve. As the sun beats down, I lay everything out onto blue tarps in the parking lot. Blasting Crosby Stills Nash and Young in my earbuds, all of my design ideas come to fruition. Piece by piece, I lovingly place each item - imagining cooking a meal, writing a story or gazing at stars from my beautiful sanctuary. 

I lay down heavy rubber mats for flooring and cover them with a teal rattan rug. Bungee cords connect a Gorilla shelf to the metal wall. Pillows, blankets and towels sit in a large black basket. I light cone incense and hang Tibetan prayer flags.  Carefully, reverently, gratefully - I build my second home.

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It’s 5am when I extricate myself from my warm sleeping bag. I can see my breath inside the camper so I need to move fast. Boil water for tea. Strip out of my sleeping clothes. Put on new smart wool base layers, a fleece and shell layer. Pack up my bedding because now I am in ‘day mode’. Remove scrambled eggs and potatoes I pre-made from my Alpicool car fridge and place them in the Hot Logic which I plug into my Jackery. It takes about an hour to heat food up in the Hot Logic. The idea of eating my warm breakfast as I watch the cranes land excites me. I pack a bag for later: binoculars, crackers, water, gloves, and balaclava head cover. 

Nobody is up as I leave the farm but I wave at the end of the driveway anyway. 

Hoping my GPS will not clip out on these distant highways, I begin to drive over to the Jasper Pulaski FWA. Spectacular orange and red dawn light gradually appears along the horizon as I turn right on W 300 S, left on S 20 E, left on SR 421 and left on SR 143. I see one red pick up truck and only 5 homesteads dotting the vast landscape. I keep driving through rolling fields, woods, prairies. Solitude comforts me.

When I arrive, I notice 4 other cars in the parking lot. It’s still dark in that predawn kind of way. There’s a sleepiness about the place, but also an expectant energy. As I climb the cedar stairs of that huge blind, other people come into view. One woman and three men, all standing alone wearing combinations of camouflage gear and wool everything, they peer through incredibly long camera lenses. Hardcore bird photographers, they probably got here at 5:00am to set up. At their feet are classic Stanley thermoses - the olive green ones that you see factory workers carrying. Hot chocolate, coffee, tea? Hell, even hot water would help to warm your core on a morning like this. 

After enduring the sub zero temps all night long, I’m kind of immune to the bitter wind. I just want to experience the sandhill cranes.

I hear them before I see them. Thousands of birds loudly bugling off to the right, over a set of trees in the distance. I get out my binoculars, grateful that there are few clouds.

As they approach, my heart expands. It’s like we’re a family. I’ve missed them since last year. Sure, I heard a few flying over my apartment in Evanston over the past month, a few pairs of lifelong couples traveling in loose formation on their way South. 

But this - this is thousands of sandhill cranes, guided by entrainment, circadian rhythms, light from the sun and a kind of ‘bird oral history’ that has been handed down for generations. No maps or GPS. They know where to go. They have been traveling this route for millions of years. Their ancestors will stop here long after I am long gone. 

I watch them for an hour. Silently. Go back to the van and eat my eggs and potatoes. Warm my numb hands in front of the heat vents. 

Satisfied, I start to head home. I want to get in a swim and avoid rush hour traffic.

As I get closer to I-65 North, I get 4 bars on my phone. I remember Bob Wells said to get near a freeway for strong signals, as all the USA interstates have satellites flying over them. I ‘search for nearby YMCA’s’ on Google maps and discover the Crossroads Y in Crown Point, Indiana. 

45 minutes away. Perfect.  As I drive, I calculate my expenses for this trip. Gas, tolls + one meal out = $37.00!  I love how my nationwide Y membership allows me to exercise (and shower) for free across the country! My travel budget is $50 a day. Most days I spend less.

Breaststroke and kickboard. 85 degree hot tub all to myself. Pulsing massage from the shower head. Decompressing, I prepare for re-entry shock after my time in the country. 

Driving again, I reflect on this 48 hour micro-adventure. This homecoming. This bitterly cold but surprisingly warm moment in time. I feel, in a word, complete. Grateful and in awe, I begin to dream about my next trip. What migrations will I follow? Where will I go next? One thing I know for sure - when my Muse calls, I will answer.