Holiday Cheer, a 1984 VW Camper, and the Power of Goodwill
I didn’t expect to feel holiday cheer while waiting for paperwork.
But this year, that’s exactly what happened.
I bought a 1984 VW Camper.Â
And I bought it in slow motion.
Fifty-one days.
Over seven weeks.
A transaction that refused to be rushed.
From the very beginning, one choice mattered: I didn’t dicker on the price.
After two years of looking—watching listings, comparing conditions, learning what “good bones” actually means—I knew the price was fair. Not cheap. Not inflated. Fair.
So I said yes.
And right after I said yes, I wondered if we were crazy.
That moment after a clean decision, when your nervous system wakes up and starts running worst‑case scenarios. Did I move too fast? Miss something obvious?
Around day ten, something else happened.
I realized I would feel a real sense of loss if the deal didn’t go through.
I had become attached—not just to the vehicle, but to the idea of it. This particular 1984 VW Westfalia Vanagon. The dream it represents. The roads it might take me down. The version of my life that includes it.
Then things slowed down.
Paperwork took longer. Timelines stretched. The van needed to be safetied in Ontario, and as anyone with an older vehicle knows, that process can be extensive.
In this case, it required over $2,000 in work.
At one point, I genuinely thought it might not happen at all.
Around day thirty‑something, I noticed a familiar feeling—the urge to tighten, to protect, to brace for disappointment.
That’s when something else became clear.
What this transaction needed most was an incredibly high level of goodwill.
And that goodwill had already been established.
Because I hadn’t negotiated hard at the beginning, there was trust to draw on later. Because the relationship started clean, it stayed generous—even when things got slower and more complex.
The seller took care of the safety work.
Not defensively. Not begrudgingly. She simply handled it—clearly, transparently, and with care.
Goodwill made it possible to solve problems instead of argue about them. It kept everyone collaborative. It reminded us there were humans on both sides of the paperwork.
If you’ve ever purchased something meaningful—property, a business, a vehicle, a future—you know how quickly these moments can turn tense and adversarial.
This was different.
From the very beginning, the seller took extraordinary care of me. She explained things slowly. She checked in often. She made sure I understood what I was stepping into. She acted not just as a seller, but as a steward—of the van, and of the relationship.
And here’s the part that surprised me most.
I am usually the one doing that.
I’m the person scanning contracts for both sides. Naming risks out loud. Saying, “Let’s make sure this works for everyone.” It’s how I lead, how I coach, how I move through the world.
This time, I got to receive that care instead.
There was no urgency. No pressure. Just steady, kind, competent attention—until the yes felt solid in my body, not just correct on paper.
Somewhere around day forty, I realized this had become a kind of holiday gift.
Not the camper (though I adore it).
But the reminder.
As the year winds down and everything feels louder, faster, and more urgent, I keep thinking about that 1984 VW Camper and the 51 days it took to come home.
Where might you choose goodwill over leverage right now?
What dream are you quietly protecting as you wait?
And by the way—our VW Camper has a name.
Her name is Fern.
And she is home.
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