Next to dreaming about the children's book I'm illustrating and the YA novel I'm perfecting, I love to dream about someday living in a tiny house.
The thing I love most about the tiny life style is the simple, freeing, economics. I am a single millennial who grew up in a home that promoted thrift. Since entering the adult sphere I've also learned that just because you have full-time work you are not guaranteed to do/buy whatever you want.
And I'd always believed my parents were saying "no" just for my moral character.
This, among other adult lessons I've been learning, is why the cheapness and freeing aspect of tiny house living is just so appealing to me. Anything that increases your capacity to save, while decreasing your financial stress has to be a good thing.
I'm not in a position to build a tiny house yet, but I do try to live the lifestyle in my apartment situations. This does not make me infallible though. If there is a lesson to be learned in my recent life, it's this. If you value security, then avoid environments that promote a "stuff culture."
The seductive allure for stuff came to me because I had moved into a stuff environment. When I first moved, I had a solid growing budget and the few belongings I managed to fit into my ancient Subaru was plenty for me. Then, I moved into the apartment. You'd expect a stuff oriented apartment to look like an episode of hoarders, this was not the case. This is was the other kind of stuff environment where possessions were few, but expectations and tastes were high. It was beautiful with matching furniture and designs that would make a fashionista drool. The smooth, clean appearances and alluring smell of candle wax made it seem like the perfect apartment. What I didn't know, was that beneath the fog of wax, lay a budget devouring serpent that demanded lavish offerings.
The culture of keeping up appearances is a stressful one. I knew I wasn't totally happy and that I couldn't jive with my roommate. In the end it really came down to a difference in values. As each month past, all the comments started to wear on me. Topics about appearances and the need to "look nice." Continual requests to be quiet when closing the toilet seat to avoid advertising the embarrassing fact that even girls use the toilet. How who owned the most stuff or more of the contract was used as a lobbying tool for apartment rules. Demands that all things bought for the apartment must be first approved by my roommate. The constant stress of needing to appear put together and upscale was making the apartment anything but. Underneath it all, was the glaring truth that it was just a facade that none of us could afford.
Not knowing any better, I tried to fit in. I hate black, but the Walmart black furniture was the only affordable kind that was easy to match. Normally, I would have trolled the thrift stores for wooden constructs from the 70's, but I had this indescribable need to "match" with the apartment. Maybe, I thought if I looked like I fit in, then I would feel comfortable there. I even bought candle wax because I was worried my room didn't smell as good as the rest of the house and I didn't want to smell obviously human. The hungry stuff serpent bit me every time I went grocery shopping. I had this unusual desire to buy things I could buy then, but not afford long term like candle holders, fancy mirrors, cardboard quotes, and other useless items that only served as decoration. My roommate once bought a cardboard quote for our bathroom when we had been without a trash can for a month. Why? This didn't make sense to me. I felt like I was in this limbo world where needs and wants were standing on their heads.
It took me four months to realize how much my roommates attitudes and anxieties were affecting my spending habits and personal sense of well-being. I have no other word for the environment, but toxic. It was like a really nice looking hell populated by gremlins who look like Jim Henson's stuff lady puppets from the Labyrinth.
Thankfully, the contract was loose enough that it was more of a month to month agreement. As soon as I heard there was a vacancy elsewhere I jumped for it. My roommate couldn't believe I was willing to risk my deposit and just leave rather than stay and wait until I could find a replacement. She couldn't understand how much my freedom from that place was worth more than the $200. That's how different our values were.
My new apartment is organized chaos. The furniture doesn't match, but we recently got a giant elbow leather couch for just $100. It's a little messy, but comfortable, and it doesn't stink of candle wax. Within one hour of moving in, I felt welcomed and at home.
The sudden move reminded me about how one of my goals this years was to NOT buy stuff. I wanted to always be able to move easily and the current amount of stuff I own just wouldn't allow for it. The two pieces of furniture I justify because I had always planned to discard it once I moved states again and/or built a tiny house. Had I not moved, I probably would now be broke and have three or four pieces of furniture. Since moving into my new apartment, this is the first time I'd even recalled needing bookshelves. Which I don't.
My point. Stuff is attractive and your environment will largely dictate how you react to the "need" for stuff. If you find yourself in an unhealthy environment that compels you to buy stuff you don't need or can't afford, it may be time to re-asses the issue. What needs to change? Is it a manipulative roommate? It is a family member who has an unhealthy attachment to getting things? Is it the people you hang out with, or the neighborhood you live in? I never want to be in a "keeping up with the Jones's" environment ever again. I don't know how people do that for years. Those four months were exhausting enough.
