Rambling about my tiny house dream
I first learned about tiny houses on wheels in 1999 or 2000, and have been learning everything I can about them ever since. That’s 26-27 years of collecting information and studying people’s experiences. I’ve read books, articles, blog and forum posts. I’ve watched thousands of hours of tiny house youtube videos, television episodes, and documentaries. I’ve talked in person with people who live in tiny homes and builders of tiny homes. I’ve been to tiny home festivals. I've lived happily in a 21' motorhome with my spouse and our two medium-large dogs for several months.
This is my dream. In the deepest kind of way. The thought of having a tiny home on wheels (THOW) of my own gives me a sense of safety and stability that even the idea of owning my own traditional home doesn't. And oh, how I long for stability.
I'm disabled and chronically ill. I love my independence, but I have to rely on others to get around, and for daily supports. Right now, that's my spouse. But if, god forbid, I should ever lose my spouse, then I would have to rely on family, friends, and/or community supports. I would likely have to move to be nearer to that family, those friends, or access to that community support.
If I had a tiny home, I could take my home with me, either to the backyard of family or friends, or to an rv park, or a tiny home community, or another friendly, available space. Assuming my home were paid off by that time (tiny homes are quicker to pay off), then paying space rent could actually be affordable, meaning I could maintain my independence more by staying in my own home.
Because of the nature of my spouse's job, and because of poor planning, plus the fact that I can't work, we don't have a great retirement plan ahead of us. A tiny house would mean more affordable housing income, and a better quality of life as we age.
In all of this, I could stay in my own home. I've moved ten times in the last seven years, including multiple moves across the continent. My mom died, I moved across the country from my closest friends and my sisters, my disability and chronic illnesses have ramped up enormously, and other stressors have increased as well. I had a fear of the rug being pulled out from under me before all of this. Now my need for stability is... I can't think of a word big enough.
My dad (a builder, of all things) thinks the idea is stupid, and refuses to entertain the idea of helping me. (Wild, since thirteen years ago he was briefly enthusiastic about it and almost helped me make it happen.) He thinks an RV is just as good. But RVs leak easily and aren't really insulated, and their repairs are expensive and specialty, and their lifespans are so much shorter. I dream of one home to last me the rest of my life, warm and comfortable and safe, that I can afford the repairs to, or do the minor ones myself with a few hand tools and books.
It's been 26ish years, you would think I could have made it happen by now. I'm still working on it. I've been close a couple of times, but life... happens. People happen. Events happen. I'm being vague, I know. The details don't matter. What matters is that my heart's been broken a few times, and now it hurts to watch tiny house videos, but I watch them anyway because I can't seem to let this dream go.
A conversation happened yesterday that gave me a moment's hope. Nothing will come of it, except that I will be unable to stop myself getting my hopes up and they'll get dashed and I'll feel pain about it. And then I'll go back to trying to figure this out again.
Someday, somehow I'm going to figure this out, and have a home of my own. I really am.