For now, the journey continues, and while it is far from reaching its endpoint, it continues to enrich. I am a vastly different human five months into this project than I was at its start, and the construction process has been nothing short of humbling.

It’s also been deeply instructive, especially in terms of what it means to be an eco-conscious, sustainably minded citizen. Here’s what I mean.

1. We’ve grown addicted to more than we need.

The idea of living tiny first drew me to compact space. Building tiny, however, has meant fresh intimacy with what it actually means to live minimally.

I’ve become deeply familiar with what some might call cramped quarters. (I know how wide most dishwashers are, for example, how much space we typically allocate to showers, how high most windows are up from the ground).

Every possession and necessity must have its own, earned space in this tiny house. I already live fairly minimally, but I’ve had to assess and reassess my belongings, letting many of them find better uses. The design of the tiny house itself has required utmost precision.

There’s nothing wrong with this. I’ve always enjoyed a challenge, and I never wish to be burdened by Stuff. But it has drawn my attention to how much our society has nursed an addiction to having more—more than what we actually need.

Space is a luxury, and not all of us have it. Creating more living space for the sake of space—well, I’m having a hard time really getting behind that. The earth can’t always accommodate that, especially when having more is often paired with other wasteful habits.

I’ve trimmed down what “necessity” truly means, and I think even Marie Kondo would be proud!

2. Fear really can stop you in your tracks.

If you let it, fear will keep you from doing something you don’t want to do, and so easily. I’ve given into the fear impulse all too easily, and building this house has been revelatory in this regard.

For example, I’ve always been a bit anxious around open flames of any kind. When I had to do a bit of welding on our rafter beam, it would have been much more comfortable to pass the torch (literally).

In fact, I almost did. But I sat there with that metal rod, turning it into a molten seam—heart pounding—and felt something: that sensation of expanding outside of yourself. Hesitation is natural, my friends, but fear is not. Fear keeps us from that delicious, revealing exhilaration that makes us growing, powerful humans.

3. It’s not all pretty Insta-stories.

Our instagram feeds never present the entire story. Mine certainly does not. It doesn’t show the late nights at the shop, the floorboard placing in negative temperatures, the mud-tromping, the screws that refuse to sink into wood.

It certainly doesn’t show the couch-hopping I’ve done while building, the receipt counting, the need-for-a-shower.

We need to remember this, and, more importantly, love all parts of our stories. I am more than social media, and so are you.

And: tiny house building is not easy. It may even be the most challenging—and also the most rewarding—thing I’ve done.

4. Nor is it about the end result (not really).

I naively assumed I would have a crude structure in place by February. Here I am, writing this in said crude structure, pausing periodically to check for leaks in the roof (spring rain!).

And this is okay. I’ve spent too long valuing end products and destinations, success stories and taglines. Life grows beyond these things, and there is much more to see—much more to learn—in the meantime. Plus, it means that I get to witness every growth stage of my future home. I wouldn’t miss that for anything.

5. There’s grace in admitting you don’t know how to do something.

The times that I have admitted ignorance—namely, every time a power tool walked onto the scene—I’ve been surprised. I expect disappointment or frustration but, instead, I’ve received compassion and an eagerness to instruct. Lucky, perhaps, but even luckier is the perspective that this is how we learn: by simply saying, “I don’t know.”

6. What it actually means to be eco-friendly.

This is one of the most important takeaways from my humble home build. I’ve wanted so desperately to check all of the eco-friendly boxes at every single stage of this construction.

I want to be zero-waste and plastic-free (meaning that I generate zero landfill waste or “garbage” and rely on materials other than plastic). I also want to be water-efficient and plant-friendly (namely by using biodegradable materials, paints, and soaps). Did I also mention I want to use alternative energy sources—like solar—whenever possible?

These are all noble and impactful desires. But I must say, it is nearly impossible to meet all of these desires at all times. I’ve chosen some building materials that contain chemicals, for example, as a means of prioritizing energy efficiency and independence; I’ve had to bring plastic into the equation for lack of alternatives.

This is okay. I’m developing a new, more forgiving definition of eco-consciousness: as long as I am choosing one aim (i.e., zero-waste), that itself is enough. It’s about the whole rather than the part in so many cases, and we aren’t superhuman.

That being said, I’m fairly proud of the decisions I’ve made throughout this project. It will ultimately be 100% zero-waste, plant-friendly, and plastic-free—at least in the lifestyle it enables!

7. Community is everything.

Creating with one’s hands is an ancient, urgent art. We need more of it in this screen-dependent society!

True creation, I believe, rides the wave of beloved community. I have had incredible support from so many loving, local hearts, and that reminds me of what this effort ultimately is about: cultivating a lifestyle that gives, to the earth and to others. That’s what it means to step into the light.

Thanks for listening, friends. I can’t wait to share more with you soon, once I’m fully living under this sweet peaked roof.

The post 7 Things I’ve Learned from Building a Tiny House appeared first on Eco Club.

And yes, I am building it in the dead of winter. (Snow is peaking and flurrying outside in negative temperatures as I write this on a mini-break from sawing and hammering.)

To some, this is the ultimate dream. The tiny house movement has been accelerating in the last few years, with micro-homes spread across all fifty states. The appeal is real: low cost of living, mobility, and reduced carbon footprint (among many, many other benefits).

For others, living tiny is, to put it lightly, a challenge. (Nearly 50% of all Americans would “definitely not” choose to live in a tiny home.)

So why am I doing it? I assure you, this is not the result of a ‘quarter-life crisis,’ and nor am I keen to join the slew of other tiny house builder profiles on the internet merely to gain acclaim.

I am asked this question nearly daily. To most, I simply say: Why not? But there is so much more to it than merely that.

I’ve adored “tiny” for two decades (and counting).

This is a nostalgic point, but I’ve coveted “tiny” since I could speak. More importantly, I’ve been crafting small since I can remember, be it in the form of miniature school books for my dolls or teeny lego houses for my plastic dinosaurs.

Now, I surround myself with itty-bitty succulents, miniature paintings, and ramekins (oh, the ramekins).

I don’t think this is really an obsession. I simply feel that small things have power, and they have truth. (Shakespeare says, of course: “Though she be little, but she be fierce.”) And always, always, less is more—in words and in things.

Big dreams often manifest in “tiny” ways.

I think that it is all too easy to assume that dreams must be grand, sweeping gestures, achieved by big, big, sweaty means. Such thinking pulls our attention away from the present, where delicious and beautiful change is happening all the time.

I’ve dreamed of a tiny house for years, yes, but its manifestation has actually taken a lot of time, a lot of learning, a lot of me figuring things out.

It’s a good reminder that small in itself can be a high point. Oh, and ticking all of the things off of a to-do list isn’t what it’s all about! (And, big secret: I’ve never been able to finish such a list in one day in my life.)

It’s urgent. (No, seriously.)

Our planet needs us. We’re all used to hearing this, but the earth’s situation is very, very grave. Over the past few years, I slowly opened my eyes to what has been happening around us.

I’m building a tiny house because I absolutely must: for the earth, for the rest of human life. It offers me the lightest possible means of living: my footprint will be less than 200 square feet literally, but I will also be living fully zero-waste and plastic-free.

What’s more, this tiny house will not have a black water system (meaning water that has been contaminated by waste or chemicals). Everything we put down its drains will be biodegradable and vegan, and this house will have a composting toilet!

We are also incorporating sustainable building practices and materials as much as possible during construction.

This is the philosophy behind my blog, A Lighter Earth.

I cannot exist as a moral human without making such efforts to live mindfully.

And in living mindfully, I live my best self.

Minimalism enables me to channel my best self.

Speaking of that best self… I am fiercely independent, but I’ve been a bit of a nomad for several years. There was a time when I packed all of my belongings into a Toyota Yaris hatchback and drove across the country—aimlessly, until I found my heart here in Montana.

I loved feeling like a turtle.

I loved the freedom of fewer possessions, of sacred, unfettered space.

I strongly believe that we move freer and better when we veer away from materialism.

Oh, and light. This tiny house will be filled with light, thanks to some salvaged nine-foot windows (repurpose!) and sky lights. That is also the heart of minimalism—moving more towards the sky!

Too much screen time.

As a freelancer and writer, my hands are all too used to crouching over a keyboard. (And in this society, we live in the blue light of our screens far too much.) I’ve found such relief in the physicality of the tiny house construction process, and what beauty there is in using my hands to build something I will inhabit!

Biting winter winds have made this challenging, and there have been multiple learning curves (what with terminology, power tools, and, well, math). Yet I’m acquiring vital skills, and ones that are way too often associated only with men.

Who says women can’t run saws? It’s fun—you should try it!

I enjoy answering the question: “Why would you do that?”

I’ve spent too much of my life in fear. I’ve spent too many years assuming that there were things I simply could not do, for various reasons (societal codes, belief systems, etc., etc.). I’ve spent too long saying: “That would be nice…. but.”

Now, I strive to hear this question almost daily: “Why would you do that?”

(As if living in 200 square feet of space is as surprising as consuming insects, which really isn’t all that surprising!)

Why do I want to hear this question?

Simple.

I love venturing into territory that feels forbidden. Because once you venture, it’s a wild ride, there’s no going back, and “forbidden” really means “possible.”

Thanks for listening, friends. If you’re ever in Bozeman this spring and beyond, drop on by. The Light House will always accommodate fellow tea-drinkers and earth lovers.

The post Why I Chose to Build a Tiny House at 26 appeared first on Eco Club.