Does everybody who has a small house have a great life?
Does everybody who has a big house have a small life?
These are just questions with all kinds of answers. These questions are a way to start my blog today about my tiny house, the story of the relationship with my home, my walls, and my neighbors. But this relationship can’t be described without telling you about my home in Peru.
My house in Peru is literally on a park and 100 steps away from the beach. You don’t have to cross a street to enjoy the sea. The house is made of cement. The whole building has 3 stories. The first one is independent from the other two in that on the first floor is another family (my aunt, my uncle and cousins). I was extremely close to them. I hung out with my cousins there, and it was like having a second home where love, laughs and food happened. The other two stories is where I lived and was loved until I moved to Colorado.
Those two stories were my home for many years. You can have really 5 bedrooms. There are 2 and a half bathrooms and a roof where you could see the beach in its fullest. My favorite place there was the living room. The living room was the most spotless place at home with wood floors that you could see yourself in because they were so shiny. There were many couches to sit and enjoy the view of the park. That part of the home I would say for me was the most peaceful, where we had flower pots and a huge mirror that gave the character to my home.
My second favorite place was the dining room. That place was noisy, a place of company. I was never alone there. My grandma was always present, and if she was not there was my mom, my aunt, or the lady who helped us. And even when I was alone, the TV was there. The dining table was big and strong; it was the place where we would gather on a Sunday with the family.
My house in Peru was big enough, where if you wanted to find privacy you definitely could. Where you could not hear your neighbors because of the thick walls.
My house now in Colorado has 2 stories and a basement. It is made of wood and has 2 bedrooms, 1 and a half bathrooms, and in the basement there are 2 areas we use as the office and laundry room. We only have 4 windows, and the main view is the parking lot.
When I just moved to this house, I did not have neighbors. Years passed, and all kinds of people moved next to us. With some I became friends and others I did not. I heard everything. I knew when my neighbors were taking showers, when they were flushing the toilet; I knew their struggles, their fights and also when they made up (if you know what I mean). With some of them, we shared tears and laughs.
Years ago I complained about my tiny home. I was tired of other people. I missed my big home in Peru that did not just have my family but also more family in the first floor. I was never alone. On the contrary, I used to feel alone here. My neighbors barely ever said hi, and once I gave a welcome card to one of them and he just came to me and told me that he was not a social person. Well that was it. I became that neighbor, the American neighbor who likes independence and respects privacy.
When I used to complain, I kept looking for new houses, and I just saw everything wrong with my place. And then I woke up; I made the choice to stop being the victim. I chose to be grateful. I chose to transform. I chose to see the cup half full instead of half empty. That started years ago. And a big shift came after that.
At some point I had to choose. Do I move and get a job so I can pay the big typical American white picket fence? Or do I stay here? Would it make sense for me to just work the normal 9 to 5 job in order not to enjoy my big house? Well, I don’t like doing things that my TrueSelf does not agree. So, my husband and I decided to live in our tiny home, AKA the mansion for some of our friends.
Paying a mortgage under 600 bucks a month, we chose to travel and make those kinds of memories instead of buying a bigger house. Do I regret it? Not really. I prefer to do what I love. But don’t take me wrong, I have my days when I am tired of my old home. But lately I have decided to see if we can make some cute improvements inside and feel more comfortable.
As lonely as I felt at the beginning here, I have learned that all experiences are great. I pretend in my head that I have a huge house and a big family. I can hear everybody, and I think they are part of the gang. I have learned to live with them, my neighbors. Some are moving because the value of our homes are so high; others are just arriving to my block. And there it is, us waiting to see where life takes us. We might move, we might not.
But now I feel at home. My big tiny place, full of noise, not necessarily from us. A couple of times my neighbor hears me eating breakfast in my patio and brings over bacon to me; that makes my day! We are the neighbors that share WiFi, and help each other out. That take care of pets and plants and on occasion have been there for emergencies.
This is my home now, very different from what I was used to. When I had a big house, my life was not as fulfilled. Now my house is tiny, and I take advantage of life to the fullest. Am I setting my priorities wrong? Who knows? Do I judge people who prefer a big house? No way. Be sure that if I get a large sum of money, I will be getting my big house and the big life too. But for now, I enjoy what I have, a great life.