I’m really attracted to the tiny house scene. I’m not sure why, but maybe it’s because when I was a little girl, I had a poem book and one of the poems was about a little girl in her very own tiny little house.

The poem featured a picture of the little girl sitting in a rocking chair, a cute little oval rug beneath her feet, a cat somewhere nearby. If I could have moved out at the age of six and moved into that little cottage, I think I would have–at least until dinnertime.

I recently watched a video of a woman proudly showcasing her tiny house on a video, and realized she had pared down her stuff to almost nothing. I couldn’t fit my canned goods collection into her whole kitchen.

In my pantry, I have special mustards, all kinds of oils, various sorts of olives and vinegars. I’ll read a complicated recipe and think, yeah, I’ve got kudzu and black seed oil. Also Black Sea salt and a special Dijon from France that’s probably expired and I don’t care.

And her clothes! She fit them all neatly into three drawers built beneath her bed. Her two pairs of sneakers took up one half of one drawer. She’s only got a few pairs of pants and a few shirts. This is no ordinary woman. She is a super-simplified hero.

Doesn’t it sound divine to simplify like this? To have just a few of everything that will fit neatly into 500 square feet or less of living space? Four wine glasses, four plates, four cups, four saucers, four cans of soup, four pairs of pants, four books, four kinds of cleaning supplies, four rolls of toilet paper stashed somewhere, four pillows, no pets, no basement, no storage space?

When friends come over, they sit on her bed, or on a big armchair (which is the one extravagance she extended to herself), or two uncomfortable little seats at her tiny little dining table that folds down from the wall.

I am both enamored by her lifestyle and repulsed by it. I am clearly a woman who values having choices but dreams of limits. It makes me wonder: wouldn’t it be great to drive by a HomeGoods and not stop?

I guess I love stuff. I love stuff more than I love simplicity. I don’t throw away one thing a week, like we’re supposed to, asking ourselves if that thing brings us joy any longer. I’m not sure if everything I have brings me joy, but I’m used to seeing all this stuff everyday–that picture of my girls, that old scarf hanging in my closet I haven’t worn in ten years, that fake plant in a cabinet, and the books on my bookshelf. Yet, ask any tiny homeowner, and they’ll tell you it’s not about what they gave up–it’s about what they gained: flexibility, adventure, and a house that can literally be towed to a new backyard if they get tired of where they are.

The tiny house movement isn’t just a passing trend–it’s a lifestyle revolution. In the past decade, the number of people living in tiny homes has exploded by more than 65%, with thousands trading in sprawling square footage for tiny models of charm. Today, it’s estimated that over 10,000 tiny houses are parked across the U.S., tucked into backyards, hidden in forests, or forming cozy, friendly villages. Some folks downsize to escape ridiculous mortgages; others just crave the sweet simplicity of having less stuff and more life.

You can’t beat the price.The average tiny home costs between $30,000 and $60,000 to build, a fraction of what a traditional home commands. That lower cost means fewer loans, more travel, and in many cases, the chance to work fewer hours. A whopping 55% of tiny house owners have more savings than the average American–and many report a much lower stress level, too. Less house, less hassle. But no shoes?

And while it’s certainly not for everyone–clearly not for me upon reflection–tiny house people have big love for their lifestyle. They’re happy! According to a survey by The Tiny Life, 68% of tiny home dwellers own their homes outright–compared to just 29% of traditional homeowners.

And here’s a fun kicker: a growing number of retirees are jumping into the tiny life, with about 40% of tiny house owners aged 50 and up. Turns out, the dream of living lighter–both physically and financially–has no age limit. I guess tiny homes are proving that when it comes to happiness, bigger isn’t always better.

I’m having a hard time believing that, though, sprawled out at my long dining room table with my dog under my feet, and sipping from one of my twenty-five coffee cups.