The question everyone asks me is where I’m going to park. At first I thought people were just not getting the concept of what it means to be nomadic. “Wherever I want” I’d say, or “a different place every night”. Call me naive, but it hadn’t occurred to me that homeowners might not welcome me parking on the street outside their house. Or that if someone tried to break into the car that it’d be a big problem; I figured I’d just make some noise and they’d get scared and run away. Right?

Then this weekend I was in a workshop where we were talking a lot about invisible privilege. It finally dawned on me that what people often mean by the question is “how are you going to stay safe?” And one big reason other people might see this kind of adventure as unsafe is that for them, it would be. The accidental fact of my straight white maleness means that I’m generally pretty safe in the world. Like most people with privilege, I forget that the opportunities I am given aren’t available to everyone. Sure, by moving into my van I’m temporarily defying social norms of work and property, but the fact remains that I’m able to do so largely because even deeper social norms favour my sex and skin colour.

I’m not quite sure what to do with this, but I guess I wanted to acknowledge it.

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