Moving on

We recently bought a house. It’s been a long time in coming, almost five years of looking to be precise.

We currently live in a very small house. In fact, the main reason we were looking for a house is that we are cramped despite incredibly thoughtful space management. Though we make it work, it’s sometimes a struggle. We lovingly refer to our kitchen as a “one-butt kitchen”.

To be honest, this house would be just fine if none of us had any hobbies requiring “stuff”. If we just read books or played card games, and never had company we would have zero incentive to move.

But we don’t. The reason we can’t park a car in the garage is because my husband has an anvil in the way, for god’s sake. 

My own studio space, a tiny converted bedroom, is crammed wall to wall with books, fabric, and painting supplies…plus, I write in there. We are discovering our son is also a tinkerer, and so his shelves are full of books and cardboard-based machines.

In short, we are bursting at the seams.

In addition, I love to entertain, and found myself struggling against our lack of space when people came over for a gathering. We managed to make it work, setting up a folding table in the family room and a buffet on the kitchen counter. We put a cooler of drinks outside along with recycling containers. Despite the lack of room, we managed to have a great time.

Which took me back to my childhood.

When I was growing up, my entire extended family would gather at my grandparent’s house for a traditional Christmas eve dinner. We would sit around a table filled with goodies, break bread, and enjoy each other’s company. My Grandmother would play Frank Sinatra eight-tracks and heap second helpings on everyone until we all pushed away from the table.

Then she would bring out the cookies.

There were a lot of us there: my parents and two younger sisters, two sets of aunts and uncles, and three cousins. Which is great until you consider that my grandparents lived in a tiny co-op rowhouse.

Everyone was crammed into that space in the most creative ways possible.

The we ate around a series of folding card tables, covered with tablecloth, and surrounded by folding chairs in the middle of the small family room. My grandmother had prepared, from scratch, a huge banquet in a kitchen the size of a modest storage closet. After putting leftovers into the refrigerator and folding the tables and chairs and setting them outside, the kids would find space on the burnt orange shag carpet and the adults would collectively attempt to sit on the floral and paisley couch.

It was glorious.

Those were the days when it was somehow acceptable to have dinner for 14 in such a small space. Since then, though, I have never been to another gathering quite as cramped. Except at my own house.

I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t a wee bit self-conscious about cramming our friends into our sub-1000 square foot house (though, we do have a finished basement, thankfully).  But I cling to the idea that people are usually just happy to have a place and a reason to hang out. Especially if someone else is cooking and buying the beer.

Living in this small and incredibly affordable house was one of the ways we prioritized saving over spending. Not only did we not have a large mortgage, we didn’t have large spaces to fill with furniture or random consumer goods. It was rare that my “bougier” friends would come over to a neighborhood like mine, further reducing the need to impress anyone with fancy decor. The house essentially enforced a low-consumption lifestyle.

This is precisely the same benefit that my grandparents had in their tiny place.

There are many risks in moving to this new place. For one, it is bigger. Which we need, but which comes with the potential for expanding into the space. It is also more expensive due to the cost of loans and lack of housing supply. There will be other requirements for living there, such as a lawnmower that can handle a bigger area.

But, more than one person will comfortably be able to move around the kitchen at once. Each of us will have space to enjoy our hobbies and interests. We will be able to invite people over without worrying about where everyone is going to sit.  And my 70+ year old parents won’t have to get a hotel room every time they visit.

When I think back to my grandparent’s place, I realize that it was perfect for them precisely because their hobbies were reading and playing cards. They socialized at church or at the local hall provided by their coop. And, back in the day, a one butt kitchen worked fine when there was only ever one person working in there to begin with (#patriarchy).

So, what I’m trying to say, is that, in order to live a happy life, we need some elbow room. Even though we’ve outgrown it, I’m thankful to my tiny house. It helped me on my path towards a good financial life. It showed me how to creatively work around constraints. It helped me focus on my true priorities. All benefits that I can pack up and take with me.

Now that we are moving on to the next chapter, I’m excited for what will unfold. And I’m glad that it is unlikely to be a card table in the middle of the living room.