“Autobots, transform and roll out!” commanded Optimus Prime. He was larger than life itself, unstoppable and toted a huge cannon to make sure you never forgot it. Every morning before school, Prime showed me how to lead, be free, work with others and take charge of my young life. While others, like Wheeljack taught me to invent and ask questions. Bumblebee and Ironhide showed me what bravery looks like. They didn't have to catch the bus. They decided how their day would end. I wanted that, a life of self-determination.
Influenced by those kinds of role models, I spent many hours imagining and sketching futuristic self-powered buildings, robots, cars with wheels that made energy as they turned, and starships that would take me to other planets with fusion reactors.
My imaginations engineering tool of choice was LEGO, and usually led to a crash landing of my ship on a barren world, again. Then just like the Autobots I too struggled to find an energy source that would satisfy the needs of my ship, and somehow blast free.
When I wasn't doing that, I was scavenging small electric motors, solar panels and other electronics from household items, even taking apart our remotes, or VCRs just to see how they worked. Surely a bit of a nuisance to my parents, but I don't ever remember them getting angry about it, exactly the opposite, my Mother praised me for making cardboard robots taped to my remote control car. My mind constantly surged with ideas and questions, causing my mother to often remark that I was the thinker of the family.
Those were probably the best times of my whole life. Summers were an infinity of possibilities. I was about as care free as one can be, racing my banana bike all over town, exploring the neighbourhoods, jumping fences, wandering the nearby mountains, eating Saskatoon berries, crab apples, and sometimes carrots out of peoples garden along the way. My childhood was how all should be, free to choose, but the cancer of school soon overcame my life, brainwashing me for a rigid compulsory future. A life of servitude, monotony, depression and faint whispers of hope.
Fast forward a few decades into my muted inconsequential life, and I'm not thinking up cool invention ideas, fantastical adventures or solving world problems. I'm stressing out over real life Monopoly. The free parking lottery isn't a thing, community chest has vanished, the bank can take anything from me, all the properties are taken, and not only that; greedy corporations, untrustworthy food manufacturers, utility companies, and crooked governments are running the game. Passing 'Go' now, only means I pay someone above me for the resources to exist. I was loosing the 'game'.
One day, a potentially massive hailstorm began to form. The air cooled as the wind picked up, and the sky went black. Past storms had destroyed property with golf ball sized hail. My car was about to be on natures hit list, so like every hailstorm warning previous, I parked under a tree on our lawn. It was an infrequent seasonal thing, and by no means a ghetto white trash extra parking space. This time though, a different sort of storm hit, my landlord moved to town.
He was an angry 10 year absent slum lord. His moods were as predicable as his surprise visits, and he neglected his properties. Everything at my place needed attention or replacing; from appliances, right down to worn out carpet. He blamed me and my roommates for the sad condition of his rental, and demanded new damage deposits. Once he got those, he raised the rent the very next month.
Before the hail arrived, he just happened to be driving by, or maybe he always drove by. Who knows? He banged on the door, and as I opened it, he spun around like a skunk and a blast of expletives and eviction threats fouled the air. He might have just said, don't park on the lawn! He left me shocked, alarmed and feeling violated. Up until that moment, I had been the yard care taker, but now that all stopped. I was done with situations like this permanently!
Unfortunately, compounded by all of my debts, I simply couldn't afford a way out. The only sort of whit flowing through my synapses was to get a second job, eat less cookies and continue to be taken advantage of here or elsewhere. Surely rooming with various flavors of crazy strangers and different levels of dictator landlords wasn't my only option?
Many late nights were spent driving around, parking in isolated spots listening to the radio, watching the stars. It felt so peaceful and against nature itself to go back. In that quiet moment, a thought whispered in my ear, until it surged through my mind. I didn't have to go back! Was an overpriced dump, costly utilities and a leaky shower really worth it? Anything had to be better. I could live in a van!
Downsizing to fit my life into 164 cubic feet was a massive task. Everything had to go. Still, no matter how much I squeezed and rearranged it was never enough. Clearly, it was more of a struggle to let go of my current life than I ever realized. Things I'd held onto for years, but never really used at all were blocking me, forcing me to rent a place... for stuff.
It was an intense inner battle, but regular reminders from my local dictator, helped clear my minivan departure path. I insulated it, tinted the windows, made curtains, removed the seats, installed an extra battery, solar panel, framed in a bed, made shelves, and added a stealthy black partition with a sliding door. I felt hopeful and excited, like I was about to take a ridiculously long vacation, for free.
My escape pod was cleared for take off just as winter arrived. Not the ideal time to embark, but I needed to get away while I still had the energy. Temperatures plunged to -30 Celsius, but I managed to survive by using my ships engine to stay warm. Once the cabin reached a certain temperature I cut the engine, deployed pocket warmers like road flares, and crawled into a preheated bed of dreams and wishes.
When my first summer came around, that was worse. Depending on my sleep schedule, the inside temperature was either the hotness of a thousand suns by 10 a.m., or not cool enough to sleep until after 2 a.m. Sleep deprivation deeply motivated me to to get some shut eye. So I designed an evaporative cooling system, which mostly worked, but I woke up thirsty often. It's an ongoing challenge, but I 'survived'.
Times like those I regretted downsizing my life, but I've come to realize, it's all just a game. Trade one set of cards for another; run on a hamster wheel, struggling with bills getting yelled at, or deal with basic needs like staying cool, and showering.
Yet, as I live apart from mainstream society, it gets easier to solve those inconveniences and life goes on as usual. It's like a prolonged camping trip now, but in a tiny space ship. There are no bills, and no debts here.
Instead, I'm monitoring power levels, securing water, deploying solar panels, constantly improving my ship, and going on adventures. This might be as close as I'll come to how things were when I was a child. It feels good, like my creativity is returning and a clear and definite purpose is emerging in my life.