2 and half years, actually. 2 years, 6 months and 7 days if we’re going to get specific, so do lets. 2 years, 4 months and 5 days since my love moved in, 2 years, 2 months and 15 days since I started teaching workshops for Tumbleweed and 1 year 5 months and 14 days since we adopted the slobberdog. And I’d be lying if I said they haven’t been the best years of my life.
This is the happiest I have ever been, yet every time I try to do a new post I get smacked by the great, show stopping wall that is writer’s block. This draft has been in the editing, deleting, and re-writing stage for over 6 months not because I don’t want to tell you all what’s been going on but because I haven’t been able to make it come out right. See, I’m so happy that I’m not sure how to write an update without getting so sickeningly sappy and cheesy that you all want to spontaneously hurl.
If I cared more about not making you hurl and wanted to seem like a discerning, pragmatic kind of girl, I would probably write about how I sometimes wish for things that my house doesn’t have or about the tiny inconveniences that folks in ‘normal’ houses aren’t inconvenienced by. I could write about how I sometimes get pissed that I don’t have a garage to house all the tools I don’t have, or how I have to use someone else’s washing machine when I need to clean things that are too big or awkward for my wee sink. I could write about having the flu with a compost toilet or about falling seriously ill with a kidney infection last summer and the following reality of being unable to stay in my house, too weak to climb my own ladder.
But when I think of my life in this little house the past 2 years, 6 months and 7 days I don’t think of those things as an accurate representation of my experience. They happened, but so did the rest if my life. The amazing, beautiful life that is mine because of this very house and everything that comes with it.
I work my dream job and do so only 1-2 weekends a month because of this house. I live in my dream location and swim in the ocean every day because of this house. I have the time to spend my days writing music and drawing and creating and sewing most of my clothes by hand because of this house. All because of this simple little house that keeps me focused and humble and sane (somewhat. HAMSTERS)
Nothing is 100% perfect 100% of the time. In a big house, you miss the efficiency of a small house, in a small house you miss the convenience of a big house and so it goes. It is all too easy to slide into the tempting human mindset of waiting on the next new thing that will fix everything and make you happier or your life better or maybe even get you a glimpse of the elusive ‘perfect’.
Tiny houses, small houses, average houses, huge houses; none of them are ever perfect in and of themselves. All you can hope for is to find is a situation that brings you the closest balance between what you want and what you need, and commit to it with all its inevitable quirks. This, for me, is my house. I have committed to this house as my personal version of perfect. The positives outweigh the negatives, as my dad would say.
So when issues arise, I deal with them, as I would have to deal with a different set of issues in any other given house. I have to take the bin out from my composting toilet, for instance, but I don’t have to deal with plungers or overflowing. And when my house feels too small, I strive to classify the problem not as ‘I don’t have enough space’ but as ‘I have too much stuff in this space and it’s making it feel small’. Then I downsize, reorganize, and move on. I don’t let it bother me because I know full well how lucky I am to have found myself so close to my own ‘perfect’.
And it is ever so close to perfect :) Though this is only my experience. In the short time I have lived in my house, I have seen people start building, stop building, sell, move out, get together, break up, rave about, rage about, love and… not love their tiny houses. They are not for everyone. As helpful as it would be, know that no one can tell you what it will really be like for you. Not me, nor anyone else can tell you whether it will work for you and your situation because it can only be your own, unique adventure.
So there you have it; an update, finally. I guess it wasn’t all that cheesy or sappy…But I assure you it would have been if I posted the first draft :) Just a little sap before I go.
I got a puppy!!! She is an Australian Shepherd named Roo (Rionnag in full, which means star but no one can say that so we call her Roo. Or Roo-Bear or You-Bear. Or Rooster when she’s being loud. There’re a lot of possibilities with a name like hers). She is just the cutest little thing, right?! I am in puppy love :) Lobster is darling with his baby sister and they go craaaaazy playing outside together, though both know that being in Little Yellow means ‘go to your quiet place’. If anyone is wondering, she potty trained remarkably fast in such a small space and hasn’t had an accident in my house since she was 9 ½ weeks old (she’s 17 weeks now). My family’s big house down the road is a totally different story, I think she holds it and plots out going there… And here are some 8 ½ week old puppy pictures in case you want to have a wee squeal :)