I have been in tiny house full time for a little over a year now and someone asked me today if it was as I thought it would be. They asked me if I enjoyed it as much as I thought I would.
Without exception, there is not one time when I have opened the front door, or even merely approached my front door, and not felt a sense of comfort, coziness, and security. Because my frig is smaller, I have finally learned to shop and cook for one. This one simple thing has drastically improved my diet. The cross ventilation has worked to give passive solar and also refreshing breezes, just as I hoped it would.
Having completed a full calendar cycle I now know which of my remaining ideas should most likely be things I do, and which are probably completely unnecessary. I also know I’m completely fine if I do nothing different because I have loved this last year, exactly as it has been.
I can honestly say that not only is my tiny house the shelter I had hoped it would be, it is far more than I hoped it would be. It is a haven. It is a refuge, a place where I don’t feel the bumps and bruises that led to me downsizing in the first place. It is something my children and grandchildren think of when they are met with challenges. It is a place that has expanded my sense of connectedness. It is a place that keeps me more attuned to that natural clock ticking each day outside my front door. It is a place that reminds me to take care of myself and stay in shape because I built it and I know the weight of each sheet of plywood, and I like the lifestyle that having that strength affords me. I do less impulse buy shopping because I’m more mindful of my available storage space.
LIving in my tiny house keeps me engaged and attentive in ways I never anticipated.
I would have to say that not only have I enjoyed my tiny house as I thought I would, I have enjoyed it in ways I never envisioned.