Did you know there is such a thing as a Tiny House movement? There is even a Documentary and two TV series.
When I heard about Tiny Houses I felt relieved of my monthly, if not weekly, lusting for a bigger home. When the Pottery Barn catalogue arrives in the mail, or I peruse an antique shoppe, I miss my larger home in the mountains; full of nooks and crannies that screamed for my creative touch and fun finds.
The Tiny House movement appeased my questioning of living small. It’s like it gave me permission.
So Tom and I watched the Documentary. We didn’t say much as the first couple pared down their large home “stuff” and moved into a tiny home. We sat still as we watched the next couple and the next.
About halfway through we realized these homes were not tiny…they were large closets,125 to 200 sq. ft. The largest, to still be considered a Tiny House, was 500 sq. ft. It looked huge in comparison.
There had to be a mistake. This wasn’t downsizing…this was craziness. One couple could touch both walls with their arms outstretched. They smiled broadly for the camera like it was a good thing.
One couples’ couch transformed into cubbies lined with cedar to mask the locker-room-smell of the husbands hockey equipment. I gagged as I imagined sitting on sweaty man gear…cedar, mixed with body odor, infusing couch cushions, in a small space. Home Sweat Home.
In another tiny house, the bed was in a drawer that slid under the 4 x 5 living room. A clever idea, but they couldn’t get into the kitchen if the bed was out of it’s drawer. So much for Sunday coffee in bed.
We were feeling more anxious as we watched.
All those tight places.
All that togetherness.
Making a meal, that included a vegetable and a protein, in a kitchen with one burner and one pot, clearly took more creativity than I could generate after a long day.
As I looked around our townhouse, I felt like I was living in a Mc Mansion. I spread my arms without my finger tips touching a wall, a piece of furniture, or Tom.
I ran (well walked briskly) up and down the stairs that are wider than 12 inches and have a hand rail.
I made tea in the kitchen using every burner…just because I could.
I plopped down on our couch, that is just a couch. It doesn’t have to be anything else than what it is.
My angst about living in a small place was gone. My home had room to spare.
Happiness is all about perspective. Thank you Tiny House Nation.
P.S. I wrote this sitting in our den/office/guest room instead of my usual perch in the living room. Tom asked “Why?”
“Because I can,” I said. “This isn’t a tiny house.”