From Divorced and Heartbroken to Unstoppable!

In February, I found myself contemplating a significant question: “Will I always live in my tiny house?” The answer, true to my nature, was a classic Dee Williams hedge: maybe. As I reflected, I realized how much I still love my tiny home—the skylight windows that capture the moonlight, the cedar planks supporting the loft, and the kitchen view. Each element holds a story, from the front door rescued from a dumpster to the fear and excitement of buying a trailer. My house isn’t just a structure; it’s a repository of memories and a catalyst for personal growth, making me more mindful of my impact on the earth and my community.

About a month after this reflection, my friend Derin from Shelter Wise suggested taking my house to Colorado for the Tiny House Jamboree. This idea of an epic road trip—photographing the house through Oregon’s high desert, Utah’s arches, and the Rocky Mountains—sparked something within me. I discussed it with my nephew Jonathan, who had just returned from a six-month bicycle journey through South America. We had toyed with the idea of him inheriting the house someday, and his time away had given him clarity. He was ready to settle in Colorado, and thus, “Tiny to Tinier 2016” was born.

For the past few years, I’ve enjoyed using a 56-square foot vardo named “Jolene” as my studio in Portland. Now, it’s time to downsize and make Jolene my primary living space in Olympia. My current “Kozy Kabin” will be moving to Colorado for Jonathan. He recently shared his mixed emotions about moving into the tiny house, likening it to white water rafting—thrilling yet daunting. For me, the experience feels like standing on the edge of a canyon, ready to rappel, filled with a blend of fear and excitement. This transition is both a challenge and an adventure.

I’m excited and nervous about the move into Jolene. She lacks many amenities—a closet, running water, and even a toilet—but these challenges are part of the adventure. This transition mirrors my experience 13 years ago with my current tiny house. I’ve thrived living simply, and I believe I can do it again. I’m curious about how Jolene will feel without the skylights I’ve grown accustomed to. Each new detail, like Jolene’s curved roof, suggests a different perspective on “home.” At 53, with life’s uncertainties—from my dad’s leukemia to my own health—I see this move as more than downsizing. It’s about finding security and meaning in a new space. As I embark on this journey, I’m reminded that change, though scary, is necessary for growth. And I can’t wait to see what comes next. Cowabunga!