Space has always been sacred to me. My space, my home, is a vessel for my imagination to roam and my body to happily dance or collapse within. As a child, my bedroom walls became a fortress protecting my imaginary wonderland from the world. My own magic wardrobe. Even my fort in the backyard woods of my best friend’s house was protected by an obstacle course created by us in order to protect our territory from intruders. I was a shy, awkward child so when I wasn’t building obstacle courses or tagging along with my older brother (wishing I was a boy so his clan of neighborhood backstreet boys would willingly let me play baseball with them in the intersection or GI Joe combat games with super soakers and garden hoses) –I often retreated into a world of make-believe, hat tricks and coloring books. I’ve kept a journal since I was seven years old and as a young teenager, enamored with the diaries of Anais Nin, imagined my journals would one day become as infamous as hers. However, I soon realized my life was not nearly as exciting and the idea of my diaries going public would be the very definition of hell–unbearable. What I love about growing older is that you begin to feel okay in your own skin. In the way you navigate the world. I’ve learned that no matter where I land in life, I need the sacred space of my journal and my little nest. And although my head is perpetually cluttered with thoughts and ideas, my physical space demands openness and air. I despise clutter. Perhaps because I am the daughter of a clutter-o-holic (my mother) and a collector of everything old and odd (my father), I have a tendency towards minimalism. Gradually, however, I have gotten to accept some of the clutter that gathers over time and due to growing up in a house packed with family, friends, dog hair, food and loud love; I feel much more comfortable in a small space. Still mostly, I prefer to collect words and enjoy organized clutter with a purpose.
Clutter that makes sense is the only kind of clutter allowed inside of a 10×12 ft space. Aside from our books, bikes, camping gear, (my shoes!) and a couple of wedding gifts in storage, we don’t have much outside of this space. When we moved west three years ago, we packed light and got rid of the rest. That’s the wonderful thing about moving across the country, or to a farm for that matter, you let go of clutter. It’s wildly freeing. The furniture we have inside our cabin was gleaned from previous farm tenants, except for my grandfather’s old table we use as a desk and a 1970’s office chair I found for $5 outside Goodwill. And as I’m reminded by the most recent natural disaster or destruction or foreclosure… that everything can be swept away in a whistle and leave you with nothing–displaced and abandoned–it makes a lot of sense. Living small. But it wasn’t always this way.
At first, I expected downsizing would immediately incite a certain amount of humbleness, gratitude, and most of all, a decreased craving for consumerism. Maybe I’d even take my privileged white-girl frame of reference into a space of understanding what most of the world already knows: what it is to live in a space this small, often with three times the amount of people. But I have to confess; upon moving into this 10×12 with a loft just big enough to fit a futon mattress, I was besieged with cravings for all things material.
I spent the first month craving a multi-bedroom house with a hot tub and sauna and king size bed! I dreamed of walk-in closets and patio furniture and gas grills. Which, ironically, have never been important to me. Essentially, this move had the complete opposite effect than I expected. But recently, things have shifted.
I can only describe it in the way I first experienced meditation. In the first phase of meditation one begins with an objective to enter a space of emptying-out, to sit inside nothingness, which is extremely difficult for a beginner. It can take years of practice and discipline before one is able to quietly enter this liquid space. Here’s a more familiar meditation scenario: You begin to meditate only to find you are bombarded with an internal engine churning thoughts, ideas, and to-do lists at such a velocity that soon you’re vacuuming and dusting (at the same time), and organizing your taxes before finally returning to the meditation mat to rest in a state of Samadhi–or lack thereof.
But, for anyone who’s dabbled in meditation, before entering the expanse, you’ve got to dig through the debris. And for me, there was a massive moment of withdrawal upon entering this 10×12 which led to all sorts of strange dreams and foreign cravings. Now, similar to my experience with meditation, I am experiencing a more gelatinous stage of ease. I think it’s safe to say I am getting used to living inside of our cozy abode with the loft bed and the little leg room. The momentary yearning for suburbia dispelled.
After all this, I thought you might like to peek inside. I’ve posted some photographs of our happy little nest in a slide show below. It’s the space I’ve cleaned, organized, and “interior designed” for us. I’ve created enough room in the center of the space to practice yoga but still only enough for one of us at a time. And although I’ve been known to organize a friend’s Tupperware drawer as a birthday present, I am an amateur when it comes to organization and interior design so just in case you happen to also be residing in a space this small, I recommend Apartment Therapy. Maybe I should start my own Farm Therapy…..
Jim built the overhang outside the door so that the onslaught of rain we’ve experienced this winter/spring would stop leaking inside the cabin as well as to make more space to hang things outside. We need a lot of layers on the farm. I love him even more after he built that for us. I think we have a happier marriage because of it. I recommend keeping shelves relatively organized and efficient. Be selective. I took only our favorite art/design books and framed art work to the farm. I also placed a few decorative objects (that hold meaning) on the shelves but was selective in the process. In such a small space I didn’t want to put every art piece we owned up nor did I need to put every book or object out. The basket on the shelf holds my girlie stuff like a hair dryer and Q-tips. But I quickly became annoyed having to blow dry my long hair so I cut if off. Anyone need a blow dryer? I had to get creative about where to place extra blankets (it gets cold at night!) sheets, and towels. I decided to make an old apple crate a storage unit for sheets and towels (it’s next to the rocking chair in the photo). Only three dresser drawers to store our clothes and extra supplies. So it was a bit like an applied mathematics experiment…what to fit inside 10×12. I’m beginning to revel in it.
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high heels to hay 