Last weekend, I officially moved into the tiny. I packed the bags I’ve been living out of for the past 12 months, loaded up half a car load of stuff and drove home from my last day of full time work in Melbourne.
I must admit I had a moment of panic, looking at all of this to be packed:
And maybe just one more when looking at all of this to be unpacked:
But the truth is, that for now at least, my tiny seems to have plenty of room. It’s just a matter of maximising that feature that tinies are so well known for and creating some clever storage options. As a start, I used some left over offcuts to make some hanging room, rearranged some tools out of the drawers and cut up some left over ply lining for kitchen shelves.
Hey presto! It ain’t flash, but it’ll do the job for now. (Also, look at that in the corner, there! Fridge, glorious fridge! Living the high life now, folks.)
I am slightly concerned by the putting off of finer details. It’s hard not to compromise and just get things to the point where I can live comfortably to start with, it’s only sensible really. But I also know the danger of getting to that comfort point. Where’s the incentive then, to keep going?
I mean, when I can wash dishes, have a cup of tea on the boil and watch Firefly all at the same time, where are the problems in life?
I think collecting the bits and bobs that are staples in any new home (did I mention the fridge?) and processing actually being here in real life have superseded the pressure that would fill my short weekends to constantly finish the next step. My brain has made it to this milestone and is now taking a little break from hard tasks. There are so many to come! It’s daunting still that’s for sure.
But just for now it’s also enough to stop and to marvel and to settle in.
I have to say, it feels pretty good to be home.