The Birth of a Gap Year

 “Well, if you just keep talking about it then we’ll never go,” Gemma exclaimed. My ears perked up with electric alertness.

I had been rambling on again about my travel dreams. Usually my ideas involved some kind of dramatic shift like selling our house, buying and customizing an RV or trailer, up and moving to an isolated corner of the world for a season, bike riding or hiking extremely long distances as a family. She was used to this. Usually she’d respond by slowly nodding, maybe the occasional noncommittal “yeah maybe,” or just straight up laughing off my latest brilliant idea. But this time was different. She seemed to be flashing a green light.

When people mention a gap year they are usually referring to a young person’s travels right after graduating from formal education. Imagine, a year off to travel or volunteer to see what the world can teach you. It’s something most parents only dream about for their children. But does that really have to be limited to young singles? What if families jumped into the adventure together?


The Seed of the Idea

The allure of travel has always been a keen interest of mine. However, besides the rare trip to the East coast to visit family, or local road trips, I didn’t have the chance to travel too much growing up. And jetting away to a far-off destination never seemed like a very cost-effective form of travel, at least at my income level.

During junior high and high school, I was fortunate enough to visit some missionary friends in Baja a few times. These trips were never more than a week or two. But they did expose me to the colorful Latin-American culture and the Spanish language. I was hooked. Early on, I made an informal life-goal to learn at least one other language in my life. Spanish was the natural choice. Mexico, and Latin America in general, held a steady magnetism throughout my life. But life rapidly progressed. Getting married, having children while going back to school to build a career and buying a house quickly cooled any prospects of diving into any exotic cultures.

I ended up working as a physical therapist assistant, work I loved. My job was to help patients rehab from very challenging situations. I worked with the older population. Because of this, I started to become acutely aware of the brevity of life and that life appears to race by faster and faster the more years we accumulate. I imagined my self an old man, looking back at my life and saying, “Now, I wish I would have just….” No. I couldn’t let that be me. At least I was going to put an honest effort towards living life more fully. And I wasn’t going to be afraid to pursue after God-given passions.


Getting the Green Light

“Follow your dreams.” It always sounds nice, but what happens if your dreams don’t line up with your families’? That was where I was willing to draw the line. The last thing I wanted to do was to make Gemma miserable by dragging her along on my ambitious dreams. I knew that never ends well. My family had to remain my first dream, everything else, all those appealing adventures would have to take second-seat. But if my family maintained some interests that overlapped with those wild ideas floating around in my head, then that’d be something worth pursuing…

Like cooked spaghetti you throw on the wall to see if it’s done, I had gotten into the habit of throwing my ideas against the filter of my wife’s better judgement. Many ideas fell pitifully to the floor like undercooked limp noodles, but this one seemed to be sticking. I cautiously squinted at it, expecting any moment it’d fall to the ground, but it didn’t.

“You mean you’d really be up to trying this,” I inquired of her.

“Of course. I think it could be a really great experience, but I just hate planning. That scares me to death, which is why I probably never plan things on my own,” she assured me.

All those YouTube videos I’d shown her of other families doing something similar had finally paid off. She finally warmed to the idea that maybe I wasn’t completely insane. Still, I wanted to be sure she wasn’t just in an especially good mood at the moment and later feel differently about it. Over the next few weeks she seemed to hold her ground. My dear don’t-try-anything-too-different wife was also ready for a big adventure, and one that didn’t involve some new animal.


Putting the Pieces Together

I was over-the-top thrilled. Before long, we were playing with dates and numbers. We estimated how much we’d need to live off of in Latin-America to sustain ourselves for a year. Yes, a year.

I wanted to give our family a real jolt. A solid cross-cultural experience. When you visit a place for a week or two, you tend to look at the whole experience with rose-colored glasses. You know you’ll be heading home soon. Thus it’s easy to overlook any cultural pitfalls or inconveniences that would otherwise bother you should you spend enough time in that place. The idea is called “slow travel”. You really take your time getting to know a new place. You be intentional about living with, and similar to, the locals of your target destination. This forces you to fumble through the language and you eventually come to a fuller understanding of what drives the culture of that place.

In our research, we stumbled across a little route called the Pan-American Highway. It stretches from Alaska, clear down through Canada, the US, Mexico, Central America and to Patagonia, the very end of South America. Some people race through it in four months, others take four years. It was certainly alluring. But if we were going to do this big trip anytime soon, we’d likely only have a year’s worth of savings. One year to cover so much land certainly wasn’t our idea of “slow travel”.

So the idea turned to focus first on Mexico, and then maybe down to the Panama Canal. We understood we’d have to turn around and drive back before we ran out of money. Furthermore, on a trip this long, anything could happen. The idea was to maintain a loose grip on our plans, to embrace spontaneity. 

This was all around September 2020. We made an arbitrary goal to launch one year later. Of course, with COVID things were uncertain, but we held faith that things would come together. In the meantime, we continued to put away as much as we could into savings. We already lived fairly frugally. We usually camped for vacations. We rarely went out to eat. And we’re firm practitioners of second-hand shopping, DIY projects, and of course, debt-free living as much as possible. All these things can gradually add up over time. If you live like us, one day you too can afford to fund your own mid-life crisis.


To Sell or Rent

We were reluctant home buyers. Once we did, we fell in love with our house. However, a house is an asset, not the goal. We briefly considered selling our house. To have all that equity was certainly appealing. I had visions of traveling in a brand-new Mercedes high-roof Sprinter van, fully decked out with hip hand-made cabinets and utilities, all the best camping gear. 

After further thought, we realized our roots ran too deep in Salem to say goodbye forever. We have so many friends, family and memories built up in that area. Thus, we knew we’d likely be back to live there at some point. We knew we’d regret selling once we landed back home. A year after the trip, we’d be back with no place to call home and housing prices likely still steadily climbing. Not to mention, keeping the house certainly gave Gemma and our family some reassurance. At least we’d have a fall-back plan just in case her husband really didn’t know what he was doing and the trip end up a disaster.

So, we had to make the house pay for itself while we were gone. Eventually we landed on renting it out on a year lease. But to get there, we had several big projects to attack. Still working full-time, I threw myself into a bathroom remodel, replacing all the windows, painting and many other things. On top of that, we had to buy and prepare a vehicle.


What About Wheels?

At the time, I was using my trusty Prius-C for my home health job. I half-seriously considered taking it for our grand trip. The 48mpg gas-mileage was certainly appealing to our frugal tendencies, but that’s where the benefits ended. To say the least, it’d be a very tight fit for a family of five. Still, it’d be possible if we packed light as if we were backpacking. Through countless family road-trips, we’ve learned that keeping some moderate space between the children always goes a long ways to maintaining sanity while on the road for hours at a time. With the Prius, our kids would be sandwiched in the back. It would have been torture for them and their parents.

Another issue to consider was the type of travel we wanted to do. We planned to get off the beaten path a bit. A low-clearance city car like a Prius C has no business on the back roads of Mexico. Furthermore, should you need any serious work done, finding a mechanic familiar with hybrids in rural Mexico is nearly impossible. Thankfully, my noodle-testing wife didn’t even let me entertain the idea.

Our other option was our 2002 Chrysler Town & Country. It definitely had more space and clearance than the Prius and was fully paid off. However, this being our first family car, she was tired, neglected and just about ready to fall apart with the next big bump in the road. We’d be lucky if we even made it out of Oregon with it. Even I didn’t consider this one too long. So we had to find another vehicle.

Spend just a couple minutes on YouTube or Instagram looking at anything remotely related to vans and travel and you’ll be so full of FOMO you’ll suddenly find yourself considering quitting your job to or convincing yourself to get a camper van just because. What people create in this era of van life is certainly impressive. Again, I battled grand visions of blissfully cruising the Americas with my family in one of these beautifully built rigs. I had the confidence and skills to build one, but time was not on our side. And I reminded myself the more we spent on the van, the more we’d dig into our savings and the less time we’d have to travel. We realized we’d rather be travel-rich than van-rich if we had to choose.

Of course, we contemplated delaying the trip another year to save and build more; to have just the trip we wanted. But if you garage your dreams for too long, they end up collecting dust and rust, and eventually they get buried in the business of life, never to see the light of day again. Gemma was right, if we didn’t stay committed to leaving within a specified timeframe, we probably never would.

So I religiously hunted Craigslist and other vehicle search engines for a worthy vehicle that was just the right balance of economy and reliability. People are always selling those old vans right? You know the kind I’m talking about: the blocky white vans contractors always use; the long church vans cruising around on Sundays; the hotel shuttle vans with the ugly raised roofs. Surely there’d be plenty of those right? There were, but we seemed to be a little late to the party. The trend of van life seemed to be driving down the supply and thus driving up the prices. We were having a much harder time finding a good van than we thought.

We considered just getting an SUV or a cross-over and just tent camping as we went and getting cheap accommodation when necessary. Then we found a decent listing in Washington and happened to be the first ones to contact the seller.


Adopting a Van

“I started to do some upgrades like the roof vent and the extra battery, but now I’m buying a house and have to let her go,” explained the young owner. “I really want her to go to someone who can take her on a lot of adventures.”

She, was a 2007 Ford Econoline 350 extended with 112,000 miles clocked. 15 passenger. A classic “church van.” In a previous life it served as a hotel shuttle. I used to stick my nose up at the prospect of buying a Ford. The rumors held that they don’t build them like they used to. But in the world of vans, there aren’t a whole lot of options, and I came to learn that these vans are work horses and the Econolines maintain a fair reputation. I’m now a proud member of a Facebook group full of nerds passionately dedicated to them.

Fast forward a few weeks and we were handing over hard cash and shaking hands with the seller. With the kids excitedly loaded up, we waved goodbye to the seller and nervously pulled out, feeling like we were taking up the whole road and going to hit a parked car any moment.

“Well I guess we’re committed now,” I told Gemma. Not long ago, if you didn’t live life right, you’d end up living in a van down by the river. Now, the joke goes, if you live life right, you could eventually live in a van down by the river. Either we were taking a very wrong turn in life, or a brilliant one. Time would tell…

To streamline paperwork while traveling, we decided to get the van re-plated with an Oregon license plate. Briefly, we kicked around the idea of getting some cool custom plates. However, I was getting ready to quit my job, so I was even a little more frugal than usual.

“What should we name the van,” I inquired of my family.

“Zeus-Goose!” Chirped one of the kids. It had potential.

When we were handed our squeaky clean Oregon plates, the kind with the big green fir with the silhouette of mountains in the background, the lettering spelled “MUU”.

“Ha. It’s like the van is mooing,” Gemma remarked.  

“Well, she certainly is big and slow like a cow,” I replied. “Since we’re going to Mexico maybe we should name her something Spanish. How about ‘Vaca Blanca’?”

On one of the van Facebook groups I got flack from a commenter about naming her Vaca Blanca.

“Why in the world would you name your faithful van, who will be protecting your family on the road, and who you use and abuse, something so degrading as “White Cow”?

“Trust me,” I typed back, “I call her Vaca Blanca with the utmost esteem and affection. I assure you she will be well loved.”


Jobs are Over-rated……Right?

Finally the end of October came and it was time to quite my job. I had mixed emotions about this. It was one of the best jobs I’ve ever had. I took joy in the type of work I got to do, helping people recover and gain independence in their homes.

A part of me didn’t want to quit. And of course, walking away from a steady pay check as the sole income provider of my family was certainly a bit unsettling. It was daring. Some might say foolish, to up and walk away from the “American dream”. But there’s risk in every decision in life. It’s risky to love. It’s risky to try a new job. It’s risky to go to school. It’s risky to have children. It’s risky to travel. It’s risky to walk out your front door. But sometimes the risk of inaction is greater than the potential risk of action.

I didn’t want to get to the “golden years” of my life and regret I didn’t take the trip with my family. I certainly didn’t want my kids to look at their father as a man who just “played it safe”, avoiding chasing his dreams in the name of safety and comfort. Because that’s not how I want our kids to live their lives. To me, the risk of not going was greater than the risk of going.

And so, with reluctancy and gratitude, I bid a temporary farewell to all my faithful co-workers, and willingly jumped into an unemployed existence, holding the hands of my family as I leaped. Was it a little scary? Sure. But most worthwhile things are. And unemployment does’t always mean insecurity and vulnerability. One should certainly make sure the needs of family are met. But it’s dangerous to put all your faith in money. It may even be argued that purpose and zeal for life are more a necessity than food and water, clothes and shelter, or money. Yes, we had our savings for a year of travel, but most of all, we had each other, and we maintained faith in something greater than ourselves. We were ready to trade the comforts of routine for the thrill of the unknown.


A Slow Blast-off

Unemployed, I could now put my full energy into the many house and van projects I had yet to finish. I took countless trips to Lowe’s; spent too much time researching electrical charging systems for vans. We sold some of our possessions, gave some away, and maxed out our attic capacity with everything else.

This was an especially stressful time for Gemma. While I embrace adventure and change, she values routine and comfort. Sometimes these values clash in our marriage, but I’ve learned to appreciate that the mother of our children prioritizes nourishment and stability over wild adventures. It’d be a sad existence for our family if Gemma was too much like me. She keeps me balanced, and I get her out of the house.

“Still here?” My neighbor watched our progress with amusement. “If you’re still here next week I’m going to personally come and kick your butt out of here,” he teased. I had grossly underestimated how long all the projects would take in order for us to rent out the house and leave. November came and went. Our family wanted to know if we’d be here for Christmas. We didn’t know. We just kept our heads down and kept plowing.

Christmas came. We were desperately trying to empty our house so we didn’t try to bother with decorations. My dear Mexican-American cousin Monica insisted on coming over with her kids to set up a Christmas tree and decorate a bit. We were glad she did, even if it wasn’t a typical Christmas.

Then New Year’s came and went. It was already about two months after our going-away open-house we organized. We were making progress, but it felt like a snail’s pace. Soon we’d be ready. Then a surprise snow-storm hit. I had too much to do, but when you get snow in Salem, you play in it, because it will likely be gone in a few hours. That delayed me another couple days. I got the impression people didn’t think we were actually going to go. I started getting nervous about how much of our savings we were eating to sustain ourselves before actually leaving.

During this time I was able to do some upgrades to Vaca Blanca. We installed a custom vinyl plank floor, some captain swivel seats, a small removable table, a ladder and cargo box, a new stereo, a deep-cycle auxiliary battery to keep things charged while camping. We wanted to do more, but perfection never gets you out of the driveway. It was time to embraced good-enough.

We signed an agreement with a property management company. My mom brought us over a fifth “last meal” for us and dug in deep to help clean the house. My dad had spent hours personally helping and giving me construction advice on both the van and house. I knew it must have been difficult for my parents to help, and thus speed along the day their son and daughter-in-law take their grandchildren to leave them. I know that wasn’t easy. But I’m eternally grateful for parents who’ve encouraged me to follow my passions and dreams, even when they don’t fully understand them. An important lesson I hope I can also apply to my parenting.

Finally everything seemed to be in place. We loaded up Vaca Blanca to capacity, handed over keys to our beloved little home, said our final goodbyes to close friends and family, and rolled away into the unknown.

We don’t always realize the cliche of following our dreams can be such a rough road. Be it parenting, marriage, or any other great endeavor, if we knew beforehand how challenging they’d be, we’d probably never attempt them. There were many bumps and detours to just get our feet out the front door. Not everything was perfect, but it was good enough. When we had set that arbitrary date over a year ago, we didn’t fully realize what we were stepping into, but if we did, we probably wouldn’t have ever gone. If you spend your life waiting for your dreams to fall softly into your lap, that day will never come.