Once upon a time, a woman lived alone in her modern, tiny house, with her two tiny dogs and her two not so tiny cats.

Every night, she climbed up the ladder to her loft bed, and rested her head in the mezzanine of her tiny, little home. She stared out the little tiny window at the little tiny stars and every night, she would close her eyes to dream of stories written in the sky. She kept a tiny garden outside of her tiny front door, a small garden chair and a few flowers, and a pink plastic flamingo for good measure. She enjoyed being small; she craved being tiny.

She lived a quiet, introspective, creative life. Every now and then she would crave the city – lights and sounds and smells to reassure her that other people exist outside of her four, tiny walls, and on those days she would hop into her little black car and drive herself to a pre-arranged social arrangement, usually a one on one dinner or, at most, a few hours of social interaction with a handful of close friends.

She didn’t concern herself with social media or trends or wasting money on chasing the latest craze. She made enough money to survive by selling her creativity – design, marketing, maybe some handicrafts. She picked up new creative hobbies regularly – sometimes candle-making, sometimes sculpting, sometimes painting. She always managed to live comfortably, sparing the cost of food and a small amount of rent to the landowner. She owned her tiny house and she loved her tiny home – she was beholden to none.

She worked when she wanted to, perhaps 3 hours a day – enough to clear her basic needs – and the rest of the time she read, or she wrote, or she baked, or she cooked. She would go to the gym and attend a few meetings a week, and the rest of the time she would be hauled up inside her tiny home doing whatever her heart desired. Planning her next trip, playing with her dogs, spending all hours awake at night watching stupid videos on YouTube, wasting time exploring her new creative interest.

Her boyfriend would visit sometimes, and her mum, and her best friend and her ex wife. Sometimes they would stay for an hour, other times for a few hours. She enjoyed the company, but she relished in being alone. She hadn’t ever lived alone for more than six months or so in her entire life. She was in her mid thirties now, and she could see the rest of her life spent living out of a suitcase travelling the world, or living out of the comfort of her tiny little home with her tiny little dogs and her tiny little dreams.

She would learn how to do things she still didn’t know how to do, like reverse a trailer, and sort out her solar supply, and learn about greywater systems and composting toilets. She would learn how to survive with less, and she would learn to find freedom in the more that less brought her – more time, more freedom, more happiness.

Once upon a time, a little girl had a dream that she was no longer trapped in the world she had built. That she was no longer bound by overbearing responsibilities – things were simpler, things were easier – things were tiny.

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