Tiny House (Encore)

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“Take a date of Augs Money from Co. Augs Money.”

Codied, Einfaf, Online. Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nikolai, my right and read all the stories you hear on nothing much happens.

“Audio engineering is by Bob Wittershime.”

We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment and a different location, and since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different.

But the stories are always soothing and family friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep-brast and sweet dreams.

Now busy minds need a place to rest, and that's exactly what I have for you.

“And for this to work, all you need to do is listen.”

Let your attention rest on my voice, like an upturned leaf, resting on the current of a river. Before you know it, you'll be fast asleep.

I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.

If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to turn a story back on. It'll rock you right back to sleep. This is brain training, and improves with use. So be patient if you are new to this. Our story tonight is called Tiny House, and it's a story about a snug, small space to relax in. It's also about impatience for the flower bed, sunny days on the edge of the woods, hammocks, and reading nugs,

and the relief of having fewer decisions to make, and more time, to enjoy. So lights out campers, set everything down, even your thoughts and worries, set them down for now. If they are useful, you can pick them up tomorrow, put most likely, you'll forget them as you dream. Notice how good it feels to be in bed, to be at the end of the stay, feel your jaw softening, your shoulders relaxing. All is well. Take a deep breath in through your nose, let it out your mouth, nice one more breath in, and out.

Good. Tiny House. Ever since I was a child, I've loved snug spaces. The cupboard under the stairs, the space between the sofa and the wall, pillow forts and reading nugs, and even as I grew up, I loved the corner booth at the diner, a window seat with a curtain that you can pull closed,

I think it's the simplicity of small spaces that make them feel so soothing to me, caring for them, cleaning and organizing,

“and being in them comes with a paired down list of options, so the overworked decision making part of my brain gets a break when I'm in them.”

Instead of wearing myself out with a dozen what ifs or should I's, there is just a simple clear path. Do this, the small space says, yes, that feels like a relief to an overworked mind.

So a few months ago, I decided to make simplified spaces a way of life rather than an occasional escape.

Just before the holidays, I bought a tiny house, sold or gave away most of my things to what was left and moved in.

“And I loved it. It felt like the safest little space I'd ever known, small, uncomplicated, and all mine.”

It sat near a patch of thick woods, a mile or two outside of town, just before you get to the orchards.

Unlike the privacy and the quiet out here, from my bed in the sleeping loft, I could see a pond in the distance where deer and fox came to drink. All around my tiny house were shrubs and garden beds that I was planning to fill with pretty annuals and small trees.

“Since I'd moved in at the end of autumn, all I'd had time for outside had been hanging a few strands of Christmas lights on the porch, and a wreath on my door.”

But this year, I would spend a lot of time outside, making the most of my garden. Already, I used the porch every day. That was something I'd noticed about living in a smaller space. In my last house, there were whole rooms I barely ever used, only entered to dust or store things. In this house I used every space nearly every day, and it gave me a sense of not wasting, not wasting space and not wasting time. The porch gave off of my front door, which was painted a cherry yellow among the antique blue of the house exterior.

And it held just my comfortable chair, and the small table for my coffee and a book. I sat outside as soon as it was warm enough in the mornings, and watched the world wake up around me. It had become a kind of meditation to sit there. Listen to rain dripping from the leaves and tree branches where the birds singing on sunny days. To taste the deep, strong flavor of my coffee and smell the woods, and the grass as spring arrived.

I'd often carry my cup with me as I stepped down from the porch and circle my house slowly.

Inside my little house, I'd shed my shoes at the door, and find a small vase for the flowers, and clean the whole kitchen.

And less than a minute flat.

“In fact, my whole home could be cleaned in less than an hour.”

So keeping it just the way I liked it, in order and welcoming, or something I did every day. I found living here that I had more time to do things I loved. Felt less overwhelmed by the list of chores and to do's that used to dominate my days. I read more books, went for more walks, listened to more music, and slept better than I had in years.

When I'd first told friends about my plans for this tiny house life, many had asked,

“"No, what about dinner parties? What about guests?"”

Wouldn't I just need more space at certain times? And I know I haven't lived here long, just six months. But so far, their concerns hadn't proved worth worrying over. For the brick patio at the back of the house, I'd ordered a nice sized outdoor table. If I wanted to have a dinner party, I could do it any day the weather allowed.

“As for guests, well, they were welcome to come to have a cup of tea with me.”

I'd even take an extra chair out onto the porch for them. But when the visit was over, I'd send them on to the next stop in their journey. I'd spent many years making myself less comfortable to make others more so.

And now, I was in a different season of my life, and real friends appreciated that, and never resented it.

I guess there could be times when I would want some extra space, but the world was full of space. And I'd realized it didn't all have to live in my home. I could be in town in five minutes, wandering through the open streets, meeting a big group of friends for a movie or dinner. Watching a soccer game with hundreds of others at the high school stadium. Listening to a band play at the clamshell concert stage in the park.

In fact, today seemed a good day to step out into the world and find a few things I'd been thinking out for my home. I'd go to the plant nursery, and look for a few flats of impatience for the bed beside the porch. I'd stop by the gift shop to buy a candle, scented for spring. And I'd just might go to the hardware store where I'd seen a display of hammocks in the window. This smaller, simpler approach to living was making more space in my life for little pleasures.

More time to just rest and notice and enjoy.

let the candle on my single table and locked the door behind me.

“I'd feel a rush of gratitude for taking this step to move my life more deliberately than the direction of my dreams.”

For any house ever since I was a child, I'd loved snug spaces. The cupboard under the stairs, the space between the sofa and the wall.

All forts and raiding nooks.

“And even as I grew up, I loved the corner booth at the diner, a window seat,”

with a curtain that you can pull close. The interior of my small car parked on the edge of the park on a rainy chill day,

with a heat running and some music playing from the radio.

“I think it's the simplicity of small spaces that make them feel so soothing to me.”

Carrying for them, cleaning and organizing, and being in them comes with a paired-down list of options. So the overworked decision-making part of my brain gets a break when I'm in them. Instead of wearing myself out with a dozen what ifs or should I? There is just a simple clear path. Do this the small spaces. Yes, pet feels like a relief to an overworked mind.

So a few months ago, I decided to make simplified spaces a way of life rather than an occasional escape. Just before the holidays, I bought a tiny house, sold or gave away most of my things. Took what was left and moved in. And I loved it. It felt like the safest little space I'd ever known. Small, uncomplicated, and all mine.

It sat near a patch of thick woods, a mile or two outside of town, just before you get to the orchards. I liked the privacy and the quiet out here, from my bed in the sleeping loft. I could see a pond in the distance where a deer and fox came to drink.

Since I'd moved in at the end of autumn, all I'd had time for outside had been hanging a few strands of Christmas lights on the porch and a reef on my door.

“But this year I would spend a lot of time outside, making the most of my garden.”

Already, I used the porch every day.

That was something I'd noticed about living in a smaller space.

In my last house, there were whole rooms I barely ever used, only entered to dust or store things.

“In this house, I used every space nearly every day, and it gave me a sense of not wasting, not wasting space, and not wasting time.”

The porch gave off of my front door, which was painted a cherry yellow among the antique blue of the house exterior.

And it held just my comfortable chair and a small table for my coffee and a book. I sat outside as soon as it was warm enough in the mornings, and watched the world wake up around me.

“That had become a kind of meditation to sit there, to listen, to rain dripping from the eaves and tree branches.”

To taste the deep, strong flavor of my coffee and smell the woods and grass as spring arrived. I'd often carry my cup with me as I stepped down from the porch and circle my house slowly. Stopping to pull weeds from the beds, or pluck a few stems of lily of the valley from around the oak tree roots. Inside my little house, I'd shed my shoes at the door, and find a small vase. For the flowers, I'm clean the whole kitchen, and less than a minute flat.

In fact, my whole home could be cleaned, and less than an hour. So keeping it just the way I liked it in order and welcoming was something I did every day. I found, living here, that I had more time to do things I loved. Less overwhelmed by the list of chores and to do is, that used to dominate my days, my red more books, went for more walks.

When I'd first told friends about my plans for this tiny house life, many had asked, "What about dinner parties?"

What about guests?

“Wouldn't I just need more space at certain times?”

I know I haven't lived here long, just six months, but so far, their concerns hadn't proved worth worrying over.

For the brick patio, at the back of the house, I'd ordered a nice sized outdoor table. If I wanted to have a dinner party, I could do it any day, the weather allowed.

“As for guests, well, they were welcome to come to have a cup of tea with me.”

I'd even take an extra chair out onto the porch for them, but when the visit was over, I'd send them on to the next stop in their journey. I'd spent many years making myself less comfortable to make others more so.

And now, I was in a different season of my life, and real friends appreciated that, never resented it.

“My guest there could be times when I would want some extra space.”

But the world was full of space. And I'd realized it didn't all have to live in my home. I could be in town in five minutes wandering through the open streets, meeting a big group of friends for a movie or dinner. Watching a soccer game with hundreds of others at the high school stadium, listening to a band play at the clamshell concert stage in the park. In fact, today seemed a good day to step out into the world, and find a few things I'd been thinking of for my home.

I'd go to the plant nursery, and look for a few flats of impatience for the bed beside the porch. I'd stop by the gift shop to buy a candle, scented for spring. And I just might go to the hardware store, where I'd seen a display of hammocks in the window. This smaller, simpler approach to living was making more space in my life for little pleasures. For time to just rest and notice and enjoy.

let the candle on my single table and locked the door behind me. I'd feel a rush of gratitude for taking this step to move my life more deliberately in the direction of my dreams. Sweet dreams.