The people-watcher in me (and the waterfall enthusiast) enjoys destinations like this one.

I match with Dean while sitting on a bench across from Snoqualmie Falls. I’m not looking for a partner in crime, just a few hours of entertainment. In between researching the permitting system, deciding how many calories to pack, and inspecting the old backpacking gear in my trunk, I keep an eye on the dating market in the greater Seattle area-by swiping. I’m planning to get out of the city and go hiking on the Wonderland Trail in the next couple days, but there are a few things to sort out before I go.

The sky-high rent makes it impossible for her to wander long or often. I’ve spent the last few nights with a friend of a friend, who reminisces about the nomadic life she left behind to become a city dweller. My hairy armpits and baby-wipe baths aren’t relevant here. Seattle is a shiny city filled with goal-oriented young professionals and busy businesspeople.

I’ve been feeling out of place every moment since then. We’ve gotten stranded together a few times-her fault-but I can’t stay mad at her.Ĭeleste and I arrived in Seattle just a few days ago, three months after quitting my job. She’s loud and clunky and she hates when I drive in the mountains. I named her Celeste as an homage to the night sky and celestial bodies we would soon be sleeping under. She’s black, mysterious, and hideously nondescript-the kind of van I was told to stay far away from as a kid. I bought the passenger van off an older couple in Las Vegas for $3,500, and it was love at first sight. Taking care of myself is second nature by now. My life isn’t glamorous by any means, but I have what I need and go where I want. I excelled through high school and took advanced placement classes. I tested well enough on kindergarten IQ tests to be skipped to the first grade at age five. I live this way by choice, not out of desperation.

My home isn’t big enough to share-neither is my bed. I live in a 2003 Dodge Ram passenger van whose seats and carpet have been gutted and replaced with an unfinished plywood floor and a slightly-longer-and-only-slightly-wider-than-twin-size bunk. I’ve been single for most of the last decade. I guess some might say they succeeded, though they may have thought I took the whole independence thing too far. My parents wanted to raise a strong, independent woman.

Alone in Wonderland by Christine Reed