I want you to throw out your microwave. I know that’s not a popular opinion. It’s the beginning of soup season, for pete’s sake. The Bureau of U.S. Labor and Statistics reports that more than 90% of American households have a microwave oven. But when I wrote a blog post titled Three Things I Don’t Need (Since I Bought a Small House), I explained why I got rid of mine shortly after we moved into a home of less than 1,000 sq. feet. The main reason? My small kitchen meant I had to really evaluate what deserved to use up valuable real estate on my counters. The microwave got the ax. For the past four years, I haven’t had microwave popcorn. I’m fine — really! I make it on the stovetop, which actually tastes much better.
Living in a small house has revealed a lot of misconceptions about what I thought I had to have. I thought I needed a huge bedroom, and at least a couple bathrooms. I thought I needed a living room and a family room; an eat-in kitchen and a formal dining room. I thought the American dream meant having bills that kept you on the precipice of complete financial ruin. When our family income got frozen over several years while our expenses continued to climb, we got to a point where our mortgage payment each month was getting uncomfortably close to 50% of our monthly paycheck. I had all the trappings of the American Dream, but I could barely sleep at night, worrying what an unexpected car repair or an emergency veterinarian visit might do to our precarious financial health.
We had to do something big. Putting our big house for sale was hard, but it jolted us awake. We got rid of about half our belongings, and had to make tough decisions about what we needed and what we could do without.
It sounds silly, but even years later, I still smile when I look at the space left empty by our microwave. At one time, suggesting to me that I didn’t need a microwave would’ve sounded absolutely unthinkable and barbaric. But you know what? Microwaves don’t really make food taste very good. And they don’t really save that much time compared to using an oven or stove. This is just one of the million tiny lessons my little house has taught me.
My house doesn’t have all the trimmings that other houses in my neighborhood have. But when I walk through the front door, I feel calm. I’ve taken some great family vacations in the past few years. I’m able to shop my conscience instead of shopping the sales: I can buy fair trade coffee, organic produce, or American-made appliances, because that’s what I believe in, even when they’re not the cheapest option. I don’t worry about an unexpected expense because we have a sweet little nest egg saved up.
This is just one of the many ways my house takes care of me. That’s right — the house takes care of me. This is why I write about downsizing and minimalism: I’m here to tell you that everything you thought was true might not be what’s right for you. There might be something even better waiting around the corner. Go get it. I’m cheering you on.
