Over the last week my parents have been moving into my "big" house. I should say my mother has been moving into my house as my dad is out of town on business. My "big house" is smaller than the one they are leaving. Obviously, there is going to be some conflict with space.

My mother is a bit of a pack rat. I don't think we have gotten to hoarder proportions but there is a lot of redundancy and just unnecessary stuff. How many salt shakers do you need? How many insulated cups? She purchases solid plastic re-usable straws as opposed to the disposable variety (yea!) but she has approximately 1000 of them. She also needs to have a separate desk for every imaginable purpose. She has a fine, large desk with a hutch attached to it. She can keep books and knick knacks in the hutch, but I'm not really sure what the desk is for as she insists on a different desk for the computer and printer. If she wants to read a book or write in her journal she usually engages in those activities while sitting on her bed. And, really, the desk was pretty big in her last house. She has found a space for it in her/my house, but it is simply too big. She has cookware she swears she uses all the time, but can not possibly use that often as she prefers mostly finger foods and things that require little if any effort.

I don't want to slag my mother, though. Its a problem in the United States. We consume almost a quarter of the energy used on the planet every day but have only about 5% of the world's population. And that doesn't even begin to talk about other natural resources like water, wood, land, etc.

I worked-- not too long ago-- in a warehouse where I packaged merchandise for shipment. It was a company that dealt with merchandise for fans of major league sports. Anything and everything you could think of to stick some sort of team logo on, we had. I packed bobble heads of major league players, dishes, t-shirts, stuffed animals, elves-on-the-shelf made to look like your favorite player, hats, pens, lanyards, cups, shoes, baby clothes (because it's never to early to brand your baby)-- and I swear to you this is true-- screw caps. "What is a screw cap?" you may ask. A screw cap is just what it sounds like. It is a small cap to go on the end of a screw-- usually used for the screws that hold in your license plate-- that had a team logo on them. This item is so small that, not only is the car behind you not going to be able to see the logo, they are not going to be able to see the cap at all. Nor are they likely to care. But our need for self expression is so great-- at a time, I might add, when peak oil is a thing and global warming is no longer up for debate-- that we must use the world's precious and dwindling resources to let everyone know just how important the Packers are to us.  Or the Steelers, or the . . . well you get the idea.

Over the past year, even before I had decided for sure that I was going to build the tiny, I began getting rid of stuff. I got rid of my washer and dryer because both were broken and I wasn't sure when I would have the money to get them fixed. It was incredibly liberating. I just felt relief.  I would like to say I went on a binge of getting rid of stuff, but it all sort of trickled away over the next several months. My car. . . . let me tell you about my car. . .

I hadn't had a ticket in years. I had never been in an accident in which I was at fault. During the month of January I got three tickets. The last one came from a small fender bender that knocked something loose in the car sufficiently that it wouldn't start. Again, I didn't know when I would have the money to fix it and I really didn't care. Clearly, this was a sign from God.  I put it up on Craigslist and let it go for a song and a few sweet nothings. I've been without a car before. It was a relief to be without it again. At this moment I am still without one and have no immediate plans to get one. I live in an area that makes it possible to carry on the functions of life with out one.

Anyway, I have gotten rid of a lot of stuff, but have a lot more to go. Mostly books. They are the hardest to part with. I know that with the advent of electronic devices, one can hold an entire library in the palm of a hand, but I keep thinking of the Zombie Apocolypse that on some level of consciousness we all know is coming and I think of not only what books would I want, but what books would I want to impart to future generations about the way we were.

So, there it is. My parent's are living in my house now. I am trying to get out and get the tiny to a place where I can move into it. And I still have a long way to go.

Today I realized that I have become one of those people. You know, one of those people who is so kooky and fringy that no one really takes them seriously. 

Yeah, I've become one of those people.

A couple of nice young women from my church, looking for a service project, asked if they could help me with some yard work. I was happy to have the help. During a break, when I had brought them some lemonade, I showed them the foundation of the tiny house I was building. I was surprised that they had never heard of tiny houses or the tiny house movement. As I tried to explain the plan to them, they were positive in that way that people are when they are trying to be polite, and don't want to openly tell you that you are a loon.

This is a possible scenario I struggled to avoid for some time.

For a long time, I went over my options again and again. I wanted to leave my house. To be done with it. I felt that my whole life revolved around paying for and taking care of my house and I could not effectively do both. Earning money took far too much time to have any sort of a life. Any spare time was often spent just trying to catch up on chores and housework. There was never any time for anything. I was exhausted and in despair of my situation and my unkempt home.

Before I bought my house, I had seriously considered building a tiny house, but felt at the time that I did not have either the resources or the support system to make it happen. After I bought my house, I believed that once the dust settled from the purchase and the move, that I would be able to begin saving money again-- I had been very good at it up to that point. But the reality was that over the course of the next 7 years, not only was I not able to really begin saving money again, but every year I found myself farther and farther in the hole. My savings dwindled and dried. And every time I did begin to put money away again, something would happen to eat those few savings. 

 Over the last year, I came to a breaking point. I worked at sketchier jobs than I have ever worked in my life and I labored most especially under the weight of depression. I went round and round about the notion of the tiny house that I might build. The idea of a space that was debt-free, bill-free and in need of very little care and maintenance was a beautiful one; but at the same time, there were doubts. The house I had was a good one. I was fortunate to have found something in so ideal a location with so many benefits. People would think I was deranged if I gave it all up to live in-- essentially-- a garden shed. And where would I place it? Where would I find a piece of land as ideally situated? It especially seemed like a crazy idea when I went to visit a home that was tidy and well kept with conservative home owners. Such an idea as mine would not only look like insanity to people like this, but I feared that making the attempt would put me so far outside the realm of normal humans that nobody would ever take me seriously ever again.

I considered the possibility of renting out the house and putting the tiny in the back yard, but it seemed like too complicated an endeavor to undertake at a time when I was looking to simplify. What if the renters destroyed the house that I was still legally and financially responsible for? What if they stopped paying rent? The procedures for either scenario was too complicated to think about. I just needed to sell the house if I was going to get out from under the darkness I was in. I considered the possibility of staying in the house and trying to make the situation better, but I'd been there eight years already and things only got leaner with every passing year. No, selling it was all that was left.

It was one night, working at a home improvement store, that I realized the solution I kept coming back to was to get out. And the only way I could see to do that was to sell. So, I decided, however crazy it may end up being, however crazy it may look to anyone else, I just had to sell.

My dad came to pick me up from work that night. I told him my plan to sell my house, use the proceeds to buy a small piece of land out right and build a tiny house. Then I asked if he would help me get my house ready to sell. He said, “Okay,” like it wasn't the craziest thing he'd ever heard. On the contrary, he acknowledged that he could see that the house was killing me. That was a surprise to me since I didn't think that my parents were aware of much. But that was also the night the depression lifted and I got excited about my life again. Suddenly, I was excited about what the future might hold. I could see possibility again.

Since then the plan has changed slightly. My parents will be my tenants. I feel better having them as tenants because, I can still keep tabs on the house and help out when I see a problem. I will build my tiny in the back yard and we will split expenses. They can afford to retire. So can I. I can also stay in a neighborhood that I like.

I knew that being the crazy person and the odd-woman-out were probabilities, but my life has only gotten better since I made the decision. Everything just seems to be falling into place to make this happen. So, crazy or not, I simply can't afford to care anymore. My life is SOOO much better and I am SOOOO much happier.

I wish all y'all normal people out there the same relief.