As some of you may know, I spent the last four years living in a homemade tiny house. This winter I made a Big House transition. Here are some reflections on what’s changed.
- You can have multiple towels going at once.
- You might miss the company when you’re pooping after all.
- Scissors go missing for days. Days! When they wander back, you may find yourself breathlessly excited, and also intrigued: What are the journeys of scissors?
- Efficiency is lost. You might walk into the next room four times to look for the scissors, but they remain hidden because walking into the next room activates primal instincts that wipe your mind (or so said my ex-co-worker). You see a stray towel and walk toward the laundry room with it. Then you think, as long as I’m walking all the way over here, I might as well bring that new jug of detergent that got left by the front door. But then you find yourself in the foyer holding a towel and wondering what you were going to do here, and also, where are the scissors?!
- You should probably carry water if you’re going somewhere in the house for a while. The journey to the kitchen is long and treacherous.
- Somebody comes to take your garbage and deliver your mail because you live at a real address. It feels somehow distressing that they’re touching your bins and mailbox.
- When you tell somebody where you live, you end up saying things like, “Yeah I live over on Grant Street – in a house,” and the strange looks they give you are lost because you’re just realizing how much you took it for granted that your living situation made you special.
- The walls are huge. Looming. Terrifying, at times. But there are also more doors.
- That little voice that says “I ain’t got time for that pile of clothes right now,” gets to win, and isn’t life to short not to let that little voice win once in a while?
- You get to wonder whether you left a light on somewhere, then fall asleep in darkness, never knowing.