Tiny Apartment, Big Freedom

Faithful blog readers, I’m sorry I have left you alone for so long. I have no idea why on earth I wait so long between posts … I think there’s something in me that holds on to the idea that if I do not procrastinate as long as is humanly possible, then the ultimate, completed task is just not worth it. Or, I could just be tremendously lazy. You pick.

I’ve been reveling, just lately, in my tiny apartment. I moved in at the end of May, and I’m now completely settled in. I don’t know how many square feet it is – before you even ask -, and I’m not sure I would even know how to begin to measure it to find out. The point is, it is delightfully small and cozy, and it is all mine.


Those of you who have lived in a house or apartment all by yourself, I ask you: isn’t it friggin’ marvelous? In the past, I have always had family or roommates (sometimes both!) as a part of my living space, and I didn’t even think of the possibility of living alone. Now that I’ve taken that step, I don’t know how I’ll ever live with another person again. I don’t care if I have to live on pasta and lentils because all my money goes to the rent and the utilities! The ability to vacuum or to cook breakfast while clad in only my underwear is one of the greatest satisfactions I have ever known. I never realized how luxurious it is to leave your bathroom door wide open ALL of the time.


Some days I simply sit on the floor of my tiny living room and smile at the silence and the mine-ness of it all. My cats prowl around ceaselessly, enchanted with the small screened-in porch, and I can hang the paintings and curtains that I choose, with no regard for anybody else’s feelings or wishes. It’s liberating. I can’t believe I made it to 35 years old without ever experiencing this before … it’s like discovering diamonds in the bottom of your sock drawer! A precious treasure hidden under things you have pawed through a million times … this definitely feels like a gift.

After spending so much time last year with someone who needed, for some reason, to make me justify the ways in which I chose to spend my time, it is a beautiful thing to, just now, owe explanations to no one but myself. If that sentiment is selfish, childish, or any other –ish … well, that’s fine and dandy. My tiny apartment and I – we understand each other. I’m finally starting to once again feel at home in my own skin, and to realize that the core of who I am isn’t at all broken, only a little battered. As the magnificent Ms. Gaynor told us, “I will survive”. And I’ll do it in my miniscule apartment, wearing only my undies. So there.