Van Life at 65 vs. Van Life at 25: What’s Actually Different (And Better)

I used to think van life was for 25-year-olds.

You know the photos. Barefoot girl in a bikini on top of a rusty van. A laptop balanced on a rock with terrible WiFi. Cold noodles from a can. A bed that’s also a table that’s also a kitchen.

I love those kids. I really do. But at 66, my knees have opinions. My back has a curfew. And I like a good mattress and a toilet that is reliably mine.

So when I finally rented a van for a week on Vancouver Island last spring, I was sure I’d hate it. I’d prove to myself once and for all that this dream wasn’t for me.

I didn’t hate it. I just did it completely differently. And honestly? My version was better.

If you’re 45, 55, 65+ and you’ve felt that little tug watching a van disappear down a forest road, this is for you. Van life isn’t over. It just looks different after 50 — and in many ways, it’s finally built for us.

The Big Lie: That Van Life Has to Be Uncomfortable

The 25-year-old version of van life is about how little you can live with. How tough you are. How much discomfort you can romanticize.

The 65-year-old version is about how much peace you can create in a small, beautiful space.

We aren’t trying to prove anything. We’ve already proved it. Raised the kids. Built the career. Paid the mortgage. We don’t need to sleep on a piece of plywood to feel free.

Here’s what is actually different — and why I think our version wins.

1. The Van Itself: From DIY Plywood to Done Right

At 25: A 1987 Econoline found on Craigslist, insulated with yoga mats, built with pallet wood over 6 months in a friend’s driveway. The bed sags. The lights flicker. It’s charming because you have more time than money.

At 65: You rent first. Or you buy a proper Class B or a converted Sprinter / Transit / Promaster that was professionally built. You want a real bed, not a puzzle you assemble every night.

What that means for you:

• Rent before you buy. Try Outdoorsy or RVezy for a long weekend. One trip will teach you more than 100 YouTube videos.
• Pay for the 3 non-negotiables: A real, fixed bed you don’t convert (your back will thank you at 2am), a swivel front seat (doubles your living room), and a heater like a Webasto or Truma that works without hookups. You can live without an oven. You can’t live without being warm.
• You want windows you can actually see out of. We don’t want to hide in a cave. We want to park in front of a river and watch it.

Cost difference? A decent rental is $150-$250 CAD a night. A good used professional conversion is $60k-$95k, not $15k. But you’re not 25 trying to stretch $20. You’re 65 using the freedom you earned.

2. The Driving: 8 Hours vs. 2 Hours

At 25: Drive 8 hours, fueled by energy drinks and a playlist, to “get there.” The driving is the flex.

At 65: Drive 2 hours, then stop. The driving is the trip.

This was my biggest mindset shift. I used to think a travel day was wasted if I didn’t cover 400 km. Now I know 150 km on a slow back road is a full, rich day.

Why? Because at our age we finally understand that arrival is not the point. The little pullout with the view of the estuary, the farm stand with fresh strawberries, the bakery you smelled from the road — those are the trip.

My rule now: Never drive more than 3 hours in a day. Park by 3pm. Make tea. Read. Walk. That’s not lazy. That’s slow travel in its purest form.

3. Where You Sleep: Walmart Parking Lot vs. A Place With Birds

At 25: Stealth camping in a city, a Walmart parking lot, a random forest service road with no cell service because it’s free and wild.

At 65: I want safe, quiet, and a decent bathroom nearby, at least some of the time.

I’m not too proud to say I love a well-run campground. The ones in BC Parks, the national parks, the Harvest Hosts farm stays — they are clean, quiet after 10pm, and full of people exactly like me who go to bed early and get up to watch the birds.

The 3-tier system that works after 50:

1. The Beauty Night (60%): Provincial park, national park, recreation site. $15-$45. No power needed. You get trees, a picnic table, a trail from your door.
2. The Comfort Night (30%): Private campground with full hookups, hot showers, laundry. $50-$85. You recharge the batteries, you recharge yourself. You take a long hot shower that isn’t a trickle.
3. The Wild Night (10%): A free forest road or a Harvest Hosts winery when you really feel like it. Because you still can.

This is not selling out. This is designing for sleep. And sleep is everything.

4. The Gear: Minimalism vs. The Right Things

At 25: One knife, one pot, one spork. Bragging about only owning 33 things.

At 65: A really good mattress topper. A real pillow. Compression socks. Trekking poles. A French press that actually makes good coffee.

You have earned the right to not be uncomfortable to prove a point.

The over-60 van kit list no one tells you:

• A 3-inch memory foam topper cut to your bed. $150 that changes everything.
• A raised toilet / composting toilet you can actually stand up from. Thetford 365 is fine. Nature’s Head if you want to invest.
• Trekking poles — not just for hiking. For getting in and out of the van on uneven ground.
• A small step stool with a handle. Not glamorous. Saves your knees.
• Good lighting. Warm, dimmable puck lights instead of one harsh LED. Your eyes are older. Light matters.
• Your meds, your insurance card, and a paper map. Phone dies. Paper doesn’t.

5. The Why: Escape vs. Return

This is the biggest difference of all.

At 25, van life is about escape. Escape the job, the parents, the rent, the expected life.

At 65, van life is about return. Return to yourself. Return to quiet. Return to a pace that feels human after decades of running for other people.

I didn’t go to find myself. I went to spend time with the self I had put on hold while I was busy being useful to everyone else.

I didn’t come back with a highlight reel. I came back rested. For the first time in years, I wasn’t planning the next thing. I was just sitting in a chair in a forest with a book I actually finished.

And that’s the point no one puts on Instagram.

Should You Try It? A 3-Day Micro-Challenge

You don’t need to buy a van. You don’t need to sell your house.

You need a weekend.

Friday: Rent a van on RVezy or Outdoorsy within 100 km of you. Pick one with a fixed bed and a heater. That’s it.

Saturday: Drive 90 minutes to one place you’ve always said “we should stop there someday.” Book one night at a BC Parks or a private campground with showers. Walk. Cook something simple. Go to bed at 9:30pm because you can.

Sunday: Come home slow. No highway if you can avoid it. Stop twice for no reason.

If you hated it, you’re out $400 and you have a funny story. If you loved it — and I think you will — you just opened a door that doesn’t close again.

Van life at 25 is about how far you can go.

Van life at 65 is about how deeply you can arrive.

And depth? We finally have time for that.

Live by Design. Express Through Living.

— Gary