One of my favourite shops in the world is IKEA, a Swedish home and furniture retailer known for its style, affordability and simplicity. What I love most about it is the way they set up whole apartments in tiny spaces: a home in just 25m2, for example. When you look around those tiny spaces you start to realise how much space we waste in our homes; how many nooks and crannies could be put to more effective use.
And so, as stories about the tiny home movement have popped up on social media, I’ve become increasingly fascinated: I live in quite the opposite of a tiny home: it’s an old, rambling home on a big property, which I love for its rabbit-warren structure and vague air of dilapidation.
Yet I’m constantly drawn to stories about people who have moved to these tiny homes. And it’s more than just a fascination with smart storage. I think what appeals is the necessary simplicity that lifestyle demands: the need to pare back, to have less stuff.
Just as work expands to fit the time allotted to it, so does our stuff. Just think about the first home you rented or bought – it probably had a handful of cupboards, and you struggled to fill them. By the time you move on to your next, larger home, you wonder how you’ll ever fill the extra space you’re going to have. And you do. And so on, and so forth until it’s time to move into a retirement village and you realise the extent of your acquisition.
And I’ve come to realise that a big home has its advantages, but it also complicates your life in ways you don’t even realise.
When we moved into our home, part of the appeal of a big plot was lots of space for the children to run around in, and they have had many marvellous games in our garden, which is full of corners and hide-aways and pathways. But they’re teenagers now, and less likely to use all – if any – of the garden.
The plot had also been sub-divided when we bought, or at least, it was about 95% of the way there, so it provided the option of selling part of the property if we ever wanted or needed to. That time has now come, and plans are in the pipeline to sub-divide and sell.
At first, as I wandered around that portion of the plot and reflected on what we would lose, I was sad because so many family memories are invested in that half of the property. But then, the more I thought about it, the more I realised that my overriding feeling was one of relief. Because for me, right now, less space means less expense, less maintenance, less worry. We will still be left with a lovely, big garden. A lot of complications will go with that part of the property. It’s still a long way from living in a tiny home, but it will certainly simplify my life a lot.
I don’t know if I could live in a tiny home forever. The idealist in me thinks it would be wonderful; the pragmatist is less sure. And perhaps it might be easier with just one or two people.
But I can see the advantages: less cleaning, less outlay on furnishings, less negative environmental impact, lower energy bills, less maintenance, more family engagement and better conflict management (because you really have no choice). I imagine it would force you to get outside more often, and that can never be a bad thing.
But most of all, I think the thing that appeals, is this: less clutter, fewer complications, and much, much less stuff.
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