Leaving a beautiful, rambling old home for a much smaller property may seem like downsizing, until you discover that the real measure of a house is how much it makes you feel at home. By Mandy Collins
Last morning waking up to this view. It’s been almost 17 years. pic.twitter.com/KegLlp8Axn
— Mandy Collins (@CollinsMandy) February 6, 2016
At the beginning of February I moved to a new house, after 17 years of living in a house I honestly thought I’d leave one day in a box.
The old house is a beautiful, sprawling old lady, with pressed ceilings and Oregon pine floors, bay windows and a rambling shady garden that spans half an acre (and she’s for sale, just in case you’re interested …). I’ve counted myself lucky to live here for so long, and I’ve loved every minute of it.
But I got divorced, and things changed. Hard decisions had to be made, and so I’ve moved into a house that’s much smaller, much more compact. And even though I’ve had my share of post-moving hurdles to overcome, it’s fantastic.
Big houses seem like a lovely thing to have. They’re the thing many of us dream of. All that space! We drool over celebrity mansions in glossy magazines, or marvel on the way home from that one wealthy friend’s home. Look – a cinema, a Jacuzzi, a family room, a pyjama lounge!
But when you own a big house, it comes with complications. When it’s time to replace the gutters, for example, there are what feels like kilometres of guttering to replace. The garden takes a lot of time and effort to maintain just to a tidy standard. Everything is bigger, more expensive, more complicated to sort out – and you know what? You really don’t need any of it.
I’ve watched how we lived in the old house, and we really only used a few of the rooms regularly. The garden was mostly something we saw as we rushed in and out to school and work appointments, or sat in for the occasional braai or breakfast. I don’t need half an acre to do that – I just need the space for a table and some chairs.
Life in the 21st century is stressful, and I’m on a quest for simplicity. I’m loving this garden that just needs a little spruce-up once a week, and a house I can clean with a quick whip-round on a Saturday morning if needs be.
It’s a short 5m from the car to the back door instead of 25m – a significant difference when you’re grocery-laden. I can see the front gate from the front door without a huge wall in the way. I’m busy creating a space for myself and my children that is light and fun and happy, and where everything that’s necessary is there, and everything that’s there is necessary.
I don’t want to be a slave to status anymore, and I don’t want to be weighed down by things. I realised as I purged every cupboard in the December holidays how I’d fallen into the trap of conspicuous consumerism, and it took me by surprise. I thought I had overcome that.
So I don’t care anymore what colour is the new black or where you bought your couch. My décor style is probably going to be ‘mismatched shabby’ – and that’s okay with me. I’ll never be a minimalist – my love of books precludes me from that – but I am definitely in the headspace of ‘less is more’.
Because really, where you live, or what your house looks like, or how big it is, aren’t the important things. What is important is that you are safe, warm and dry and that your home is filled with love and laughter.
And you really don’t need a big house for that.
New view, new beginnings. pic.twitter.com/R6T1MJsRbs
— Mandy Collins (@CollinsMandy) February 7, 2016
Leave a Reply