Do I Have What it Takes to Live Tiny?
Deciding when enough is enough
I want to live in a tiny house. Have you ever seen those advertisements on Instagram to win a tiny house? Or an Airstream? I’d totally live in an Airstream. I may be one of the few people to not really believe that college dorm rooms are small. I used to build forts specifically because I liked the idea of a tiny room within a room that I could call my own. Every time I’ve chosen an apartment to live in alone, I’ve chosen a studio or a junior one bedroom even though I could afford a larger place. I love the challenge of decorating a small space. I love the pride I feel at accommodating my ever-growing book collection in a small space. I love that I can eat, sleep, and entertain in the same room. I adore a space defining rug, letting you know that since you’re on the blue rug, you’re now in the living room, but if you step on the sisal rug you’re in the dining room.
Creativity abounds in small spaces. You can’t be a boring person and live in a small space. It just won’t do. Boring people live in large spaces, like those big cavernous McMansions with only a pair of oversized leather recliners in the museum lobby of a living room. Small space requires you to be comfortable with being able to stare at your bed all day long. You can’t have a boring bed. You can’t feel ambivalent about your sheets and throw pillows if you’re staring directly at your bed from your kitchen table.
My first taste of tiny living wasn’t really my college dorm room, because I shared that space with others and also I was, like, whatever, about most things my freshman year of college. In fact, my first tiny experience was my very own studio apartment. My ex-husband and I had separated for the first time and I signed a lease for a 500 square foot studio apartment close to a grocery store and a train and a neighborhood dive bar. It was perfect. It had just enough space for a queen-sized bed, and a nightstand in one corner of the apartment; a kitchen table and two chairs with a bookshelf in another corner of the apartment; and two huge mirrored closets on the far end.
The trick to a tiny space is storage, of course. If you don’t have good closets, you will be miserable. My tiny perfect single adult woman apartment had a small loveseat and a TV I mounted on the wall all by myself. The kitchen even had full-sized appliances. After a year, I moved back in with my ex, into the 800 square foot one-bedroom apartment we shared and said goodbye to my one-room sanctuary in favor of working on my fledgling marriage.
Single. Again. A little over two years later, after my marriage was over for real, I moved into a 537 square foot junior one bedroom, small but spacious with a big closet (obviously), big bathroom, modern kitchen and floor to ceiling windows. I hung a gallery wall here and fell so in love with it that I can no longer live without a gallery wall. I will have a gallery wall in my future tiny house.
I moved to London two years after the split, into a — you guessed it — studio apartment. It technically had a bedroom, but it was lofted above the first floor and the barrier was glass, so there wasn’t privacy or a door or anything. The flat had a teeny tiny bathroom under the stairs. So tiny that my 6’5’’ boyfriend could not fully stand up in the shower. Or in the bedroom. Or in a specific spot by the kitchen. To be fair, we’d just recently met and I didn’t think I’d be entertaining a Groot-sized man when I signed the lease for the place.
There is a show called Tiny House Nation on Netflix about people who are choosing the tiny life and the hosts who are building their custom tiny dream homes. I don’t care even a little bit about the story of the family. Oh my gosh! You have so much stuff! How will you ever downsize? What will your mother think of your tiny life choices?! I just want to see the damn house! And because streaming television is a gift, I fast forward until I get to the big reveal. I have watched the last 7 to 9 minutes of many, many episodes of Tiny House Nation.
I love when I see a picture of an Airstream parked near a cliff with a full set of patio furniture, complete with huge cushions and an outdoor rug, just outside the door. A happy couple is sipping coffee or beer or some desert cocktail and smiling while looking at a sunset. However, this is not the tiny life I want to live. How do they transport the large patio furniture? Where do the furniture frames go? They look like a pretty solid wood situation. What about the rug? In my tiny (presumably nomadic, because of the trailer and the cliff) existence I’m not going to want to be carting around an 8’10’’ outdoor area rug. Also, is that rug for these folks’ comfort? Because just wear shoes, right? Like soft ones, maybe a pair of Crocs? Unless the rug is just for the purposes of the photo and then that’s a whole other problem.
My tiny life will include beautiful outdoor space, but also realistic outdoor space. I want to live in a permanent tiny house, no more than 500 square feet, but ideally around 300 square feet. I want to have a large front and side porch, a big fenced in yard with lots of outdoor seating for dining. I’d like to have accessory tiny houses on the property, one for me to write in, and one for guests. Each with their own porch and hammock. I also want to remain in a relationship with my very tall partner, and it’d be nice to have room for our 90 pound dog as well. I believe both of them can fit in the yard for most of the day, but we’ll need to have a discussion about sleeping arrangements.
I love a small kitchen where you can reach everything you need with just a little sashé and the reach of an arm. I love when the only place to put the knives is on a metal strip near the sink or the stove because there isn’t counter space for a knife block and what’s the point of those anyway? I love when there is only enough, never excess, no rogue Pyrex container lids for containers that you no longer have. Living tiny forces you to choose, and you can’t have every single thing. I’m sure the people on Tiny House Nation talk a lot about being more intentional in their living, and that’s why they want to go tiny. I’m guessing, really. As I said, I don’t watch the beginning of those shows. But I did see an episode where they pulled a treadmill out from a special compartment under the bed! The bed was on gliders and when you moved it aside, out popped a treadmill! What! That’s a cool feat of engineering, though I’m assuming that guy never ever uses that treadmill.
Being in small spaces feels safe. Being able to stand in the kitchen and see every corner of your home feels like you’re in a cocoon. You can stretch and touch the side of the walls in some places, sure, but also there is no chance a murderer is hiding anywhere within your four walls. It’s the kind of feeling I imagine having while rinsing out a pan in the sink and surveying my tiny house around me, hair tied up in a messy bun, maybe I’m wearing an apron, I don’t know. And I’m thinking, wow, I can see all the parts of this place and it feels safe. There are no jagged corners I can’t see. Then I put my one pan away and climb the stairs to my sleeping loft.
If I’m ever able to convince my very tall partner to move into a tiny house with me, I’ll need to apply to be on Tiny House Nation so they can do something weird like cut a hole in the bedroom ceiling so he can sit up in bed and read at night, head out in the evening air. Now, I know many of you may think I’m cheating the whole tiny life by saying that I want a main tiny house and two accessory tiny houses. Well guess what? I can do what I want! I was coming down on myself for the very same thing when I had a thought about values. I have a strong value of friendship. I love my friends and they live all over the world. I want them to be able to come stay with me and be comfortable. I want them to have their own space in my slice of the world. So I will have a tiny guest house as a part of my tiny life.
The tiny writing studio is more of a shed than anything else. I’m not sure why I want it, maybe because I’ve seen or heard other great writers have a place to write. Usually it’s like a shed or a cabin, or a treehouse or something in nature where inspiration can float in with the wind. But then you hear about writers writing books in a regular coffee shop down the street and then I’m wondering, have I seen any soon-to-be-notable authors writing? Maybe I’ll use it for tools in the end, or as a teeny tiny yoga studio, but I want that space.
I picture it walled on three sides with glass, facing some trees. There’s a kitchenette, a small couch, a cozy rug and bookshelves. There are a few different places to write in the small space, a standing desk looking out the window, a sitting desk on another window-wall, and a cozy set up on the couch.
After my tiny London apartment with the short shower, I lived in a high rise apartment with an insane view of Lake Michigan. It’s the space where I sheltered in place during the pandemic. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms and around 1,100 square feet of space, which is pretty tight for 24/7 living with Groot and a dog. That view saved us. We woke up every single morning to the sunrise over the lake for a year. Purples and blues peeking above the water. Every single day there was a glimpse of it, and we are early risers. And yet, that view did nothing to deter me from my tiny house goals. I daydreamed about a tiny house high rise, like a Dr. Seuss house.
Now I live in a townhouse. It’s tall and narrow and I have my own office. My partner can do jumping jacks on every floor without hitting his hands on the ceiling (he did this in every room of the place before we made an offer). There are plenty of jagged corners that I can’t see. It’s a lovely home, and I’m thrilled to be a homeowner, but the tiny life still calls me. At what point do you upgrade a fantasy or silly dream to a real thing that you may actually want to do? When does it go from a little party quip, “Oh I’d love to live in a tiny house one day!” to “I’ve bought some land and am designing the first of three tiny houses for it.” How do you know when it’s time to identify a dream as a dream and not a farce, and then pursue it without minimizing? It’s hard to say you’re really going after something, especially when the journey toward it gets tough. I guess I just have to ask myself, do I have what it takes to live tiny?
