The house I grew up in was small. I shared a tiny bedroom with my brother until I was ten and he was twelve. There was a tiny living room, a medium sized dining room and my parents had a room. Their room was eventually split in two so that they could separate us. I’m certain if we were the same gender we’d have shared that room far longer.
In rebellion against my upbringing, I wanted a big house. I wanted a room for every whim with lots of space to spread out. Basically I wanted a McMansion.
We did not buy this type of house. We chose a modest three-bedroom bilevel. It was a good size for our family of three, but would be too small should we have another child. The layout also wasn’t working for us, so we decided to move. Our current home has the same number of rooms, but with better flow and bigger rooms. If we had more than one child, I suppose this house could feel smaller, but for just the three of us it’s more than enough room. I’m not complaining and I know I’m fortunate to have the space that I do. Growing up in an overfilled small house, I don’t take for granted the breathing room I have.
Just the same, someday I will downsize. I dream of a small house, one that will hold just the essential things I need and nothing more. I am borderline obsessed with the notion of owning a Tumbleweed Tiny House. They are super cute. They are so small some are portable. I couldn’t inadvertently acquire extra things because there would literally be no place to put them. There are cottages ranging from 264 to 884 square feet. The Houses-To-Go, as they are called, range from 117 to 172 square feet.
I find that in most aspects of my life I’m drawn to the extremes. The in-betweens, though seemingly the thing that would make me more comfortable, leave me anxious. It’s almost like I don’t know where I stand. I’m sure it will be decades before I live in such compact quarters, but in the meantime, I need to start getting rid of my stuff.
This is NaBloPoMo Day 10.