Photo by Gunner Larson/Refinery29
A grown woman shouldn't be chided for living where she likes. My place is small, but it's by no means a dump. In fact, I find it pretty charming. Still, various friends and family can't help mentioning from time to time how "utterly insane" it is that my husband and I are "still there." As if living in a tree house or a commune would somehow be more acceptable.
I'm not sure what psychology (or psychosis?) is behind my undeniable love of small spaces. As a kid, I used to camp out in my closet or read books wedged beneath the bed. The sight of pocket-size boat cabins would thrill me, as would any kind of miniature dollhouse or backyard fort. Maybe small just felt economical, refined, and safe. Sometimes it still does.
For me, small (and simple) is kind of sacred — especially if you're able to happily share that doorless existence with a good mate. And, besides proving my marriage is in decent shape, here are a few other reasons why I worship at the altar of tiny.
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