For the last five days, we’ve been staying at a Cambria Hotel in Downtown Boston. Seems newish. It was ideally located to Freight Farms headquarters where we did our farm camp training. Nonsensical that farm camp was in an absolutely urban space. But the hotel was on the Redline and helped with easy navigation around the city (except that the Green line was offline).
But the room is small. Likely smaller than 250 square feet. Nice big shower but one of those contemporary bathrooms without a true door. A glass, sliding partition does not afford privacy (or security) Why does my mind analyze the safety of a hotel room for a woman in distress? Is that just me? If you’re in this room with a madman, you cannot lock yourself in the bathroom and call for help.
I realize that while I think I like a tiny home and I find myself enamored and infatuated with the Instagram tiny home feeds, I am 100% certain I could not live in a tiny home. Granted, I might not need 3,500 square feet under roof and 3.5 acres of land but a tiny home means you cannot be messy. The space does not accommodate clutter or haphazard. You have to put everything back where it belongs IMMEDIATELY. Even if you are in the space solo. A disheveled space erodes your mental health but keeping it organized and clutter-free feeds the OCD tendencies. It is absolutely better than sleeping rough on a patch of cardboard outside on the street. The tiny home is better than that circumstance without question. But, I know that the microhome or the tiny home is not a viable transition for me in the future.