Closet Space

If it's not there, you might not notice that it's missing. Take another look at my video tour of my house. It is easy to overlook something that is obvious to me, the resident. Where are the closets? They're there, and then again, they're not.

(My Tiny House Tour)
https://youtu.be/ZDPaJ9X-rGY?si=XZTnJRriKh66CPET

I've gotten used to stepping over my brooms, sliding the coat rack aside to get at a cupboard, and piling shoes onto a few racks in the corner under the electric fireplace. There is no broom closet, unless you count the skinny one outside on the side porch. My hat rack is handy, and is also top-heavy with the weight of the coats. And, my shoes are familiar with being in a pile of pairs somewhere close to an outside door.

I am not complaining, but I am observing.

Take this to the other extreme. I've been lucky enough to tour multi-million dollar houses. One of my favorites had a mud room for an entry that was large enough for a half-dozen adults to shed their coats and footware. It was a true entry that allowed a true entry. Stepping past that room and into the house was a transition moment from messy and practical to clean and refined.

Cleaning supplies could have their own room. Racks were built to hold onto brooms and mops. Shelves held various bottles and brushes, rags and cloths. Everything in its place, and usually out of sight. 

Shoes should live near the door, and also be kept out from underfoot unless they're going onto or coming off of feet.

Those mansions looked neat. Of course they were also for sale. They were also likely to be a third or fourth house that was going to be maintained by a cleaning crew that kept their gear in their truck. 

Those houses cost many millions of dollars. Mine cost $76,500. No mortgage. No cleaning crew. Not much to clean. Not much to get dirty. Not much, but enough.

When visiting those mansions I'd give myself a test. Imagine walking in after a day of something. I was about to write 'work', but someone owning one of those houses is probably coming back from something fun or charitable. As I walked in, where would I find the light switch, the hall closet, the place to put the groceries? I'd probably be coming in from the garage, not the front door. How practical was the place? Frequently, they looked better than they'd live.

In my tiny house, the coat is going onto the hat rack. The shoes are getting kicked across the floor, and the groceries are getting set on the kitchen island. Everything happens within a few feet of the door. Very practical. Not very elegant. Very real.

It wouldn't take much to add a closet or two. But, a long, skinny, mass-produced house there are few options. My house is 391 square feet. Call it 400 and make it a 20x20 square. Every corner is now closer to the door. A closet could hide a lot. Life might be a bit tidier. 

And, the house would still be tiny.

As I wrote above, I'm not complaining, simply observing. 

No house is perfect. But some imperfections become so innocuous that accommodating them becomes easy habits, easy to ignore.

There is one closet. My bedroom has a standard American closet. I modified it so it could house my chest of drawers. Remove the chest of drawers and gain back that space, after finding room for all those things in those drawers. It's a balancing act, but I think that's inherent within life lived intentionally. I'm glad I get to make those choices. 

But a more squarish footprint might be handy.