When I was around 13 years old, my Dad sent me this amazing book about architecture in San Francisco. I remember flicking through the pages of this book (which still sits on my bookshelf here in the US) and being totally inspired by a treehouse. It was kooky, in the middle of beautifully aged pines, had a bed that wheeled out into the balcony for warm nights, and was full of simple but fun finishes. Ok, ok, this house was not a tiny house. In fact I’m pretty sure it was like a 4-story mansion, but my love for treehouses and kooky design and buildings with that type of aesthetic was birthed in that book.
I don’t remember why designing houses was my childhood career goal, but I was constantly drawing ideas for fun that included round-shaped rooms filled with books (I know, shocker), houses with bedrooms nestled up in the trees, and ones with tiny rooftop patios overlooking the ocean. I even did a one-week work placement with an architecture firm in Surrey where I was able to use their tech to design my own church conversion. So weird and wonderful architecture has always been a thing for me. As I got older, my designs became smaller and smaller, and then, to my surprise, they became more popular.
There are now more than 10,000 tiny homes in the USA and we’ve seen a subculture of tiny house dwellers on TV shows like Tiny House Nation on Netflix and I have been there, hooked on every episode, dreaming up ideas, getting inspiration from quirky features, since I can remember.
Subconsciously, my history was pretty tiny up until I moved to Madison, WI. I had a studio at uni, lived in my Godmother’s garage for a year (which had no shower except inside the main house or a proper kitchen), and then moved into small apartments with a partner upon moving to the US.
It wasn’t until I moved into a huge 3500 sq. ft farmhouse that I really understood the difference between tiny and normal living. Everyone sees a big house and associates it with affluence and success - I thought I was inheriting the absolute dream. And in some ways, I totally was. I mean, I helped deliver a baby goat, got to raise chickens, ride mules, read on the patio, and worked closely with someone I loved to take care of beautiful animals.
Of course, farm life isn’t all glamorous (for example, I did not enjoy anything to do with chicken poop) but, despite how much I loved farm life, looking back I realized that I did everything in my power to make it smaller. I moved the master bedroom downstairs so we lived on one floor. I hate(d) cooking so I never really used the kitchen, and cleaning everything (something I could never get on top of with 7 animals in the house) took up so much of my time. Things I loved? The views looking out onto the rolling fields where the mules grazed, my bright red swinging chair on the patio where I read my books and the small balcony off the master bedroom where I could watch the Wisconsin thunderstorms every year. But what you’ll notice is that most of the things on my list are either based outside or have nothing to do with the inside of the house at all.
And, if that wasn’t indicative enough, when we moved in, I was obsessed with the idea of having an art studio on the hill behind the house, nestled in the trees… sound familiar? See, tiny houses were always part of the plan.
Over the past couple of years, I’ve never really settled. Divorce is always quite an upending experience in general and honestly, in my 9 years in the real estate and property management industries, I never saw an apartment for rent or a home for sale that inspired me, unless it was a kooky, tailor-made, treehouse design in a forest somewhere, but that’s not in my budget right now. ;)
I know my highly sensitive mental health warriors know that environment is everything. It makes such a huge impact on our mood and the way we take care of ourselves. And that’s not really something we are encouraged to explore. I have gone against the grain when it comes to rules of self-expression, never really followed the white-picket-fence dream, and always fought for individuality. I’ve learned so much about following a path that might be different to what society expects from me. So, knowing all this, instead of committing my life to a space I didn’t love for a set amount of time in a specific location, I followed my gut and took up invitations from my sweet friends who all put me up after my divorce instead.
Over the past few years, I’ve lived in a basement, moved in with an ex for lockdown in a different city, and moved back in with friends again. I spent time and money focusing on healing, having experiences, and learning who I was again instead of spending all of my money on rent which continued to increase year after year after year. And, in December of 2021, my circumstances changed again, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do until I was out with a friend for dinner she said “Why don’t you come and live in our RV?”
Um what?!
When someone offers you a chance to explore your dream, you (ask lots of questions to make sure it’s a good fit) and say yes, right?!
So on May 1st ion 2022, after coming back from 6 weeks in the UK, I moved myself and my cat, Luna, into a 1970s Winnebago that my friends recently renovated. I got rid of 80% of my possessions and spent time really figuring out what I needed in order to be happy and healthy and it was so eye-opening. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Experiencing the process of downsizing and shrinking into a smaller space has been so cleansing and fascinating, especially after 9 years in the US accumulating everything from books and DVDs to nicknacks, buddhas, and textiles. I used to find true comfort in things, it was a real evolution for me.
But mostly, I think it opened me up to different ways of living. Being “affluent” means something different to me now. It’s more about how I feel vs what I have. It’s more about what I do in my every day vs. the house I live in. If you haven’t watched the Ben Fogle: Lives In The Wild TV show in the UK, this kind of mentality is what I was living for. Something different. Something that in my gut felt like the right decision. Something that felt like me.
