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In 2015 I earned the opportunity of a lifetime – an offer of admission to graduate school at the University of California, Berkeley. But it came with a price tag that might last just as long. Facing out-of-state tuition and skyrocketing Bay Area rents – and not receiving a dime of financial aid – I knew one way to knock $12,000 per year off my student debt. Of course, like these things always do, it came with a big catch. Let me explain.

Optimism does not guarantee success, but pessimism guarantees failure - Jim Law

I grew up poor in New Jersey, under tough circumstances, and – despite being a straight-A student and good athlete - spent a “gap year” between high school and college working at a local pizzeria seven days per week, desperately saving for college and helping out at home for my sick father.

Although Berkeley had always been my dream school, I could not contemplate paying the out-of-state tuition. After Dad died, I finished my degree at Rutgers. Desperate to finally explore the world - and master my new passion of mountain biking - I promptly drove to California, despite not knowing a single person west of the Mississippi River.

I worked seasonally as an outdoor guide and picked up odd jobs as waiter, bartender, usher, temp, and day laborer - sometimes four jobs at a time. And in between, my quest to ride the best mountain bike trails in the West helped me to break in as a writer for the Los Angeles Times, Bike and elsewhere. But here's the catch: In order to do that while paying off my college debt, medical bills, and auto loan totaling over $50,000 – we could not afford health insurance growing up – I lived in the back of my Chevy Blazer, off and on, for a total of three-and-a-half years. I showered at 24-Hour Fitness and typed my stories on a library computer - or at FedEx Kinko's - before I could afford my own.

Jim riding north of Tucson, Arizona for Bike magazine. Photo by Scott Morris.

Eventually, I made it as a writer and got my own place - but I soon saw the writing on the wall. Journalism’s business model, difficult in the best of times, was fast growing obsolete. So I turned crisis into opportunity: I got waitlisted at Cal's Energy and Resources Group, and a spot never opened up, but I earned a full graduate assistantship to earn a Masters in History at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas – specializing in the history of solar energy. With Vegas an epicenter for the Recession, I moved into a magnificent Hangover-esque high-rise apartment near UNLV, overlooking The Strip. It was paradise - literally: Paradise, Nevada.

I traded the Vegas Strip for the back of my Xterra/Photo by Paul Ira.

Going "all-in" on Vegas was the best decision of my life, and that was the best home I ever had. By the time I graduated in 2014, I had burned out on school, but decided to apply to Berkeley one more time. I chose journalism as a science writer and entrepreneur – and the opportunity to re-imagine the profession from the ground up. I'd have to - just the first year would cost as much as a down payment on a sweet Vegas pad. Unless I succeed, I might be sleeping in the back of an SUV for the rest of my life.

UC Berkeley grad Leah Rose interviews Jim about his affection for tinted, hand-crank windows, when to hold it in, and other tricks of the trade when it comes to living in your vehicle.

Money and business started making sense for me when I started thinking of dollars as units of energy. Average rents in Berkeley for even run-down apartments run over $1200 per month. I could not even find my own room for less than $900 - with a lease commitment. The first semester, I would spend fourteen hours per day on campus, six to seven days per week. Why pay $40+ per night for a place to sleep, I thought, when I can sleep like a log in my vehicle – now a Nissan Xterra - and shower every morning at the gym? I would re-think journalism from the ground up alright – starting with the ground I’d be sleeping on.

It's rugged, but it has its moments. As welcome winter rains eased California's historic drought, I coped with wet clothes, wet shoes, and mold. But as I lay inside my Xterra, listening to thousands of raindrops hammering on the roof, and thousands of gallons of water rushing down the street gutter two feet under my head, I felt connected to the natural world - like when I mountain bike. I drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

Morning coffee - with a view.

Is it safe? Let's just say that I am a light sleeper. This fall, I awoke to the clack-clack of two guys trying to break into a neighboring car with a screwdriver. I leaned on my car horn until they took off - you should have seen the look on their faces! - then called 911. When Berkeley Police inspected the nearby cars, they found condensation on other windows: I wasn’t the only one sleeping in my car. In March, two shootouts took place within blocks of me; I awoke to the sirens. Last month, security cameras captured a guy firing a gun at homeless people sleeping just a few blocks away from my favorite parking spot.

I'm usually a slow riser, so I start each day with a Thermos of hot coffee, made or bought the night before. But a couple weeks ago, I awoke to the roar of a chainsaw starting up three feet from my head. The same charms that attracted me to this parking spot - low-hanging tree limbs that provide shade and chirping birds in the morning - had also attracted the attention of a tree trimmer.

When I hear wannabe entrepreneurs brag about living on ramen noodles, I know it's amateur hour. Good health is your most valuable asset, and skimping on healthy food is the dumbest investment anyone can make. I try to get 100 grams of protein and five to nine servings of fresh fruit and vegetables every day: eating out, storing produce in my vehicle, hitting the free food events on campus and packing out any leftovers. And I take care of my teeth - I carefully brush and floss under a streetlight.

I see Xterra living as an innovative business decision. With the money I’m saving, I’m not just reducing my debt. I’m paying an editor and a cover designer for my first book, The Case of the Cleantech Con Artist: a True Vegas Tale.

"As a rule, adversity reveals genius; prosperity conceals it." - Horace

The hardest thing about living in my Xterra hasn't been sliding out of the back into the cold, dark and rain to put in long hours seven days per week. It's been blocking out the cynicism and pessimism rampant in journalism, and keeping a decent attitude to work with all of the remarkable people I find at UC Berkeley. Most of the time, like when I'm up at Haas Business School or taking in lectures and events on campus, going to Cal feels like a no-brainer - a real bargain. But occasionally - like when a bunch of second-year students cornered me at a bar during the fall semester to tell me, "You're never going to pay off your loans," or I get accosted by the PC Police - I get sick to my stomach.

In 2016, we live in an age of irony: less security but greater opportunity. As I hike down Telegraph Road at 1 am, headed to my sleep spot, the line between “making it” and “down and out” has gotten blurry for me. Am I a success? Am I a failure? When do the showers at the gym close? Where can I find a bathroom after 1 am? And – because it’s good to have goals – the most important question: Am I the best-dressed homeless dude in America?

Click here to nominate Jim or another writer as one of LinkedIn's Top Voices.

Jim Rossi is the author of the upcoming book The Case of the Cleantech Con Artist: A True Vegas Tale and serves as LinkedIn's campus editor for UC Berkeley. Read more here. He earned a BA from Rutgers and a MA in History from UNLV, solar energy focus, in 2014 and previously wrote for the Los Angeles Times, Bike and many other publications. His work is tied to LinkedIn’s student editorial calendar.

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