The Fella and I live in a studio apartment. As far as studios go, it's actually pretty spacious and interesting. There is a galley kitchen that is a goodish size, and the bathroom is practically roomy. It's also a unique shape, and that allows for some nooks in which we could tuck bookcases (because we're book people, and need to be surrounded by them).
For all of that, though, the reality remains that it's essentially one large room. It's a dining/living/bed kind of a room -- it's the Swiss Army knife of living areas. Except for the door to get in and the bathroom door, there's no way to escape from anyone else or to shut anyone out. It's all right there.
When I moved in, of course, there was no Fella. When I moved in, I didn't even have a cat. It was just me and the room and my thoughts. I loved it. I loved the way the space flowed and purposes intermingled. I would pour a glass of wine and sit in the windowsill and watch the waterfall* and listen to myself as I remembered how to breathe -- really breathe -- after one of the more challenging periods of my life.
This space helped me to find peace when peace was a thing I had been missing.
Then I got Lizzie B, because this space without a cat was awesome, but this space WITH a cat? Would be phenomenal. She's a little cat -- so little, in fact, that I often call her Little -- but she made a huge, furry, loving, purr-tastic impact on my tiny home. She made me laugh.
I needed to laugh more, too. And now I was.
And then -- the Fella arrived in my life. Which, while awesome, was also terrifying. Tiny space. Two people. No way to escape. How would this work? What would I do if it DIDN'T work? I adore this man. What would I do if I needed space? There IS no space!
We made it work by not making it permanent. We'd try two weeks, we said, and see if it worked. Then we decided we'd try, like, a month. Then a season.
It's been about a year.
As hard as it is to believe, the space issue is not often a problem. We don't get in each other's way. We don't fight. Our most significant issue is, really, that we could use a closet. And more bookcases.
Despite that, I sometimes think about getting a bigger space. Maybe one with -- and I know this is crazy -- an actual bedroom. Another closet. More walls for bookshelves. You know, important things.
But then I look at the waterfall, and watch the cat fall asleep in the sunshine on the windowsill, and I think about how hard-won that sense of peace has been, and how cozy the apartment that we have made our home really is. I think, So what, we have a lot of stuff in storage. So what, we don't have doors. So what?
We have peace and laughing and a tiny tabby and love and a freaking waterfall.
Is it enough?
It's more than enough.
*because, yeah, I have a freaking waterfall outside my windows. I'm that fancy.