Wear It Out Give It Up

I dance. I feel like I've danced around money issues for a long time, but the thing most of my friends know me for is just having fun dancing. What does that have to do with life in a tiny house? It is a good thing I'm a marginal minimalist because some dancers could have a tough time fitting their dance wardrobe in a tiny house closet. Instead, I have one pair of pants for casual social occasions, and I dance a lot, so my clothes wear out a lot - and that's okay.

Skip images of Dancing With The Stars. I dance in cargo pants and polo shirts. In winter, I scale up to long sleeves. Simple. For me, the fun is more important than the fashion. 

I admit that, when I had a bigger house it was easier to have more pairs of pants and more shirts. Imagine having four pairs of pants. They'd wear out at one-fourth the rate of a single pair. But, in the time it takes to wear out four consecutive pairs of pants I'd wear out those other four pair. Eventually, things that are used need to be replaced.

That's true of much more than pants. Everything in my tiny house is wearing out. It's natural. But, if I have fewer chairs, they'll wear out faster than an entire set in a big house. The logic can apply to anything that must be scaled back to fit into a tinier life. The surprise is that, over enough time, there's just as much shopping to do for those items. 

Cutting boards, bathroom supplies, battery-operated gadgets, a long list of easily overlooked everyday things that I bought at one time, and that have companion pieces a few miles away in a storage locker. I've been in this house for almost a year, and after the first few months, very little comes and goes into and out of storage. I'm more likely to make that trip to shuttle paperwork from the immediacy of home to the archival solitude at the U-Haul place.

My pants made me think about this because I wear them to more than just dance. They're cargo pants. They're practical. My dance shoes, however, are for a much more specific use. I just got a new pair because I've worn out the old ones. Of all the storage messes, my shoe storage is possibly the worst.

Years ago a friend heard me telling someone else about how little I spend on clothes. He interjected that he agreed, but then he asked me how much I spent on shoes. I must have sounded like some deva, but it wasn't because of fashion; it was because of function. Running shoes, naturally. Walking shoes, which are running shoes but aren't as ragged. Bicycling shoes: nice for dry days and nasty for muddy ones. Flip-flops: casual but a pair for backpacking. Grubby boots: beat-up low tops, ankle-high, waders. Hiking boots: snowshoeing, backpacking, day-hikes. Ski boots: for the slopes, for the tracks. There are probably more, but I think that's enough insight into one of my weaknesses. About a third of them live in storage, seasonally; but, the rest try to sit on but fall from some wire shoe shelves sitting under the faux fireplace.

And yet, the same logic applies. I tend to have one pair for each specific activity. But, as those pairs get worn out, there's overlap when the old pair lingers because they're familiar, and the new pair get sparingly used until they and my feet have negotiated their fit.

Pants, shoes, whatever,...I am getting used to using things longer than I did before. I'm more likely to use something up, then replace it after a transition time. It can be a slow ride to storage or the garbage. 

Another tactic I've tried and liked has been to buy the new before the old is too old. I may consider something old and ready to be replaced, but if I leave some life in it, it might be welcome to someone in need. Maybe I give it to a thrift shop or directly to someone who can use it. There's a small joy in not tossing something away, but giving it an opportunity for another home. 

On a grander scale, I used that approach when it was time to replace my pickup truck. My truck was a 2000 white Silverado that was a ranch truck I was gifted (long story.) Rather than run it into the ground, I bought a more useful and appropriate 2016 Jeep Renegade. The change was not subtle. But rather than trade it in, I found a home for it at a local school that taught farming. It wasn't glamorous. It rode rough. It had a dent. It had issues, but they were happy to find something that could haul hundreds of pounds and that only needed to go 5-15 miles per hour across muddy and rutted fields. 

Not shoes or pants, but the principle applies. So now I wonder as I type, would I do the same thing with this, my new old big tiny house when it comes time to move?