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THE STORY

It was April of 2022,
but I was living a tale as old as time:

I was a recent college graduate, living at home to save money.

But then my parents surprised me by gifting me their old minivan. They knew what I would do with it—convert it into a tiny house and travel the country—because that was exactly what I had been saving for.

And the only reason they knew that this was how I would spend my savings—me, the cautious thrill-avoider—was because of a failure.

In my senior year of college I applied for a $15,000 grant from WashU—

the Jeffery Frank Wacks Scholarship, to be precise. When I learned about the scholarship and sat down to think of what I’d spend $15,000 on—what would feel most important after college—I called my dad. After explaining the parameters, I presented my problem:

...so I have a lot of things I like making and like doing, I just don’t know what I should make my proposal about.

He breathed in for a second, and then: Okay, forget about the scholarship parameters for now, and forget even about making art. If I gave you $15,000 today, no-strings-attached, but you had to spend it in the next year, what would you do with it?

An excellent question, one that proved I’d called the right person.

I dunno, probably travel, honestly. Like, travel around the US, and visit my friends who are about to scatter to the ends of the earth. But that’s so selfish, I can’t propose that as a project.

Well, but you can build your project in a way that allows you to also do what you want—to travel and visit your friends.

So, I wrote a proposal and budget for an art project—one where I would use 3D scanning to archive the sentimental objects of people across the country—but I built the travel itinerary around the locations of friends and family. After seven drafts, notes from friends, and feedback from multiple professors, I had almost completely masked my original motive, and was very excited about the art part of the project.

Watching my Zoom graduation with my parents from my living room in St. Louis.

The winner was announced during my college’s Zoom graduation ceremony. When the slide finally showed “JEFFERY FRANK WACKS SCHOLARSHIP,” a name appeared under it that was decided not “Tirzah Reed.” My mom, next to me on the couch, leaned in to give me a half hug.

I’m so sorry.

It’s okay. I took one deep breath. I know he deserves it. I’m glad he got it.

And I did mean that. Though it would have been a grand adventure, I had no idea how it would actually go, and how much I’d enjoy the 3D scanning—I’d only ever done it once before.

Later in the day it hit me that I had no summer job, no exciting next move. I could move home, and I had a job for the fall as an after-school program leader in an elementary school—not exactly a dream job—but I had no real plan for my life. It was a hit to my ego and my optimism.

So, of course, I talked to my dad. He had a simple directive:

You should do what you want.

That annoyed me. What do you mean, Dad?

If you really want to do this project, then find a way to do it. Pare it down, make it cheaper, work while you do it, something. People do big projects all the time without a grant. You could fundraise for it. Or apply for different grants!

I balked at the fundraising idea, but the “do what you want” message stuck. And what did I want? Well, I wanted to travel the United States. I wanted to see my friends. I wanted to make things and feel like a “real” artist. I wanted freedom.

Since high school I’d been fascinated by home organization, and minimalists.

Then came a love for small homes, which led to a deep dive into tiny mobile homes built on trailers, and then RVs. My Youtube suggestions were soon full of the final boss: Sprinter van conversions.

Living at home, I formulated a plan. I would get a van, and make my own scholarship adventure. I worked and saved, and feverishly researched. But, of course, for van life you have to have a van. So I did the requisite Facebook Marketplace and Craigslist scours, and reached out to everyone I knew. One family friend was selling their converted van. The only catch: it was $50,000. Not a chance.

And then my parents got a new car and made an offer that changed my life (and I’m not being dramatic).

If you want it, you’re welcome to the minivan, announced my dad one day in the kitchen.

To keep, added my mom.

Roughly $15,000 worth of car, they later told me. The stunning generosity and privilege of it all smacked me in the face, and the poetry of the amount—the same as the Jeffery Frank Wacks scholarship—whispered that this was how it was always going to be.

The van build started with procrastination.

First, by researching niche issues wayyy too in depth. Then, by ordering random things online. And finally, I got to work.

After removing all the seats save the front two, I made sketches and awkward measurements before biting the bullet, ordering an RV mattress, and spending a test night sleeping in the car…

Ilan wearing “eye protection” to help remove seats

…kept company by a box of the best Girl Scout cookies—Samoas, obviously.

The test night was a success! And I learned a lot—namely that I need somewhere to brush my teeth inside the car so that I can be inconspicuous while parked on a city block. So, I needed a sink.
But wait wait WAIT, I told myself with an unusual amount of forethought, I don’t even have a bed frame yet! The windows are bare, and people could see in!

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Wood I BOUGHT (crazy, I know) for the bed frame

Cutting apart the trunk-covering plywood

BED AND SINK

By the early fall of 2022 I had finished only the basic pieces of my build—like my bed and sink. I set out across the country to get a sense of what the travel was like, and fine tune my wishlist for the rest of the build. I finished this first drive in D.C., where I stayed with family until Christmas and made a mini gallery install in my bathroom.

(TWINS PIC: I didn’t build these twins, but my cousin did!)

After heading home to Chicago for the holidays, I ushered in the start of 2023 with a few months of building—adding lots of storage and custom shelving, reinforcing my bed frame, creating a folding table, and so many other odds and ends.

EVERYTHING ELSE

I learned some important lessons:

Research is a form of procrastination
Scraps can almost always make do
I have to do it scared (use the scarry machines, do the scarry processes)
Warm hands make work easier, so set up the diesel heater (see 3.)
I must make peace with many, many Home Depot trips
Redo the mess up and move on
Fun music drowns out sighs of frustration, so crank it loud
Celebrate little wins
I have to eat food!
I need to drink water!

I didn’t build these twins, but my cousin did!
12/8/2022