TINY HOME BLUES
Go Fund Me a Mansion
I regret becoming a Tiny Home dwelling minimalist
Last week I posted a GoFundMe on all of my social media pages. I’ve been receiving intense criticism and I don’t understand why. My needs are as legitimate as everyone else soliciting money with fundraisers. As a self-improvement junkie, I’ve meditated on my current lifestyle and come to the conclusion it needs to improve.
A couple years ago I became inspired to embrace minimalism. It started with the usual decluttering of closets and drawers. Getting rid of holey socks and stained underwear felt cleansing. Letting go of my coin collection set me free.
Before long I was addicted to the high I felt whenever I gave away or sold something. I couldn’t get enough of having nothing. I decimated my book shelves, dropping my most cherished possessions into donation bins with glee. I was in an unfettered manic state.
Even when my house was nearly empty, it wasn’t enough nothingness. That’s when I discovered a documentary series about building or buying Tiny Homes. Minimalists shared their stories of freedom from stuffocation: being suffocated by material stuff.
I stayed awake for six days and nights, obsessed with the documentary and drawing blueprints for my own Tiny Home. When I finally passed out from exhaustion I dreamt about the possibility of liberation from my stuff-filled life. I was certain a Tiny Home was the answer to my chronic discontent.
Thanks to generous donations to my first GoFundMe, my dream of building a Tiny Home became a reality. I moved in with my bare minimum possessions. It wasn’t long before I regretted the decision and felt trapped.
Looking back I can see I was out of control, taking my minimalist actions to the extreme. But in the thick of it, I really believed it was my destiny to experience the Tiny Home life. By the time I realized I was wrong, it was too late.
Almost everything I once owned is gone — my two bedroom house, books, coins, bicycles, even my Nana’s antique flatware. I eat every meal with my fingers or my one spork. All of my clothes fit into a shoebox and I have only a thimble to drink from.
Much to my dismay, my life is not more simple. I don’t feel free, I feel claustrophobic. You may be wondering why I don’t abandon my Tiny Home and start shopping for a mansion to fill with stuff.
Along with most of my material possessions, I gave away 90% of my money. I don’t have anywhere to keep cash after donating my wallet to the local thrift store. Minimalizing became an addiction and I fell prey to its perceived glamour. It destroyed my life.
I’m calling on all of you compassionate folks who still have your cluttered homes and fat wallets. I implore you to save me. I can’t possibly help myself out of this fragile mental state. It’s up to you to pay for my new house and everything I need to live my best life.
It has to be a five bathroom mansion, at least. I have a verified health condition that doesn’t allow me to pee in the same toilet more than once per day. One bedroom will be fine, although it would be nice to have eight guest rooms. I have a really large family.
After reading my vulnerable and authentic story, if you feel compelled to send me money I will be forever grateful. I pledge to post a “thank you” selfie on social media so everyone knows how generous you are to strangers. If you don’t have much to give, even a penny to restart my coin collection will be appreciated.
The GoFundMe that built my Tiny Home was a huge success. I’m counting on you all to give me money again because I changed my mind. This time I’m positive I want you to buy me an enormous estate with a rose garden.
I don’t know how much longer I can live in this Tiny Home. Everyday it seems to shrink. I may not have much time left before the walls close in on me. Sorry to sound urgent, I’m not the type to plead or dramatize. I just really want a 98 inch smart t.v. before the next season of Tiny Homes, Big Dreams starts.