over the past year i have transitioned from a large home in the city to a small home in the country. a tiny house. no, smaller. tiny.
i need to preface these writings with the fact that i am a professional pet sitter. this means that i live in other people’s houses while they are away, days and often weeks at a time. so i still often have the amenities that regular houses have (bathtubs, showers, running water, laundry, full-sized everything). you can see that owning my own regular house and petsitting 80% of the year didn’t really make sense. i found that i was rushing home only to feed my cats and then clean. i love vacuuming more than the next guy, but three flights of stairs covered in dust bunnies, and cat and dog hair is just stupid. dusting my huge stainless steel appliances took time and probably killed a few brain cells. washing windows that i didn’t even look through could be a lyric in a country song. and then there were the memories… the house was full of an old relationship. a tree in the backyard had our initials carved into it. i changed the furniture, paint colours, closed doors to rooms. i needed to shed the big house to move on, to shake the hope, to make room for new dreams.