It’s taken three days to pack for a three-hour event. The event? A Tiny House Meetup; or as I like to think of them, “Huge Rolling Duffel Bags”, or “You-never-know-if-you-might-get-a-splinter-or-something First Aid Kits.” This eastern PA weather is also fickle, so outerwear and umbrellas are always in the van.
When you expect to find dust bunnies under your hoard, the last thing that comes to mind is bubble riders.
These precious things, with their delicate wings once covered in dust, like to ride on all kinds of bubbles and tickle humans who are elsewhere. There is no way they are going to help with housecleaning; they have loftier goals.
The benefit for me was that with each wing I dusted off, and each wish for a happy journey, I found new space in my home and spaciousness in my soul, which I filled with music and light and love instead of more boxes.
And so the connection to my Stuff is loosened, and the idea of blessing someone else with my posessions takes hold. The clothes that will never fit my lifestyle, the crafts I will never make, the repairs I will never attempt, all are going away. Slowly. So as not to trip on a tiny faery.
When it comes to trying on a new lifestyle, I sometimes have to jump in with both feet and then dash back to dry land. In this case, the idea of going tiny after accumulating enough machinery and paperwork to overfill a house, I packed my oversized vehicle and took myself to the mountains. I saw exactly one tiny house on my adventure, but for a couple of weeks I lived in a hotel room, a cottage and a trailer.
First discovery: I can only stand my own company for a limited time. It rained pretty much the whole time I was holed up in these places. With wet sneakers and a fisherman’s hat, I found all sorts of places to mingle with humanity. But once back at my homestead-du-jour, I had to turn on the TV to drown out any semblence of lonliness. I was completely at a loss as to how to discuss anything with a chipmunk, moose, deer, bird, snake or squirrel.
Second discovery: your car can be a very large pocketbook. At least half of the things I brought with me never left the vehicle. Perhaps this is the reason I thought I might enjoy living in a tiny house on wheels.
Third discovery: No moose ever wants to hire you so that you can live in the middle of a blueberry patch in the mountains. By it’s very nature as a vacation spot, nobody lives there in order to work.
Fourth discovery: no matter what you pack, there’s something you wish you hadn’t left behind. This was pretty much expected before I even left for my trip, and likely the reason I still live in a home surrounded by things I might need someday.
It was a big day when I finally let go of the Pack Rat article. It was from the Boston Globe, and it was 35 years old. Never mind that I had never quite figured out what to name the file folder I was going to keep it in, or that it had peanut butter on it, and the lady in the picture had moved far away. I had discovered in my mind that glitch you see hoarders have, clinging to your stuff as if you'd otherwise fall down a cliff. That was a big day, all right; but many more big days had to come before I could go from FullHaus to EmptyNest. And it's still a work in progress.