Hello, friends. Today I am happy to announce that the season of the yurt has come to a bumpy close. We lived at an Airbnb for about a month and moved into an apartment last weekend. After all the hullabaloo about planning and building and admiring our yurt, why are we leaving after just a few months in?
Let’s first address two things. One: my dear partner still loves the yurt and would be happy to still be living there, working it out. He is made of sterner stuff than I. To be fair to him, all opinions to follow are my own. Two: I don’t know that anyone is truly surprised that I did not last long in the yurt experiment. Nevertheless. Let’s talk about it.
I thought it would be a good idea to revisit the reasons I stated for moving into the yurt in the first place: Save money, have an adventure, make new friends, live a little closer to earth.
A confession: I was lying through my teeth but wouldn’t even admit it to myself. The only real reason on that list was to save money. If I wanted an adventure, I would go camping for a weekend or explore a new part of town. If I wanted to make new friends, I would keep going to that crochet group on Wednesday nights. If I wanted to live closer to earth… here’s the thing: it turns out that I liked the distance I lived from the earth. With carpet, and subflooring, and no holes in my living room wall.
So the question is… did we save any money? That’s two questions, actually. Did we save any money right away? Absolutely not. The yurt was, unsurprisingly, more of an investment than I had planned for. However, would we have saved money eventually? Totally. If we had pushed through and finished the yurt, it would have paid for itself in saved rent in about six months.
So why didn’t we press on and finish the yurt? It’s simple, but embarrassing to admit after so much energy and money spent, but it’s the daggum truth: I don’t want to live in a yurt, even to save money. I want a flush toilet and a bedroom with a door. There were other issues, but I mention these two specifically because they are the ones that couldn’t have been fixed with time.
Despite the brevity of our experiment, it wasn’t without lessons learned. Here are two thoughts I want to carry forward.
One of my favorite mantras is, “Desperation is not a long term marketing strategy.” It’s from my internet friend, copywriting wizard Leah Jarvis, which is why it says “marketing strategy,” but I would posit to you that desperation is not a strategy. Period.
I, like many humans, have developed a weird relationship with money that often results in desperate, lousy decisions. Like deciding to live in a yurt to save money. I am relearning every day, week, month: desperation is not a good money strategy. I’m learning this doubly as, ironically, I deal with some extra credit card debt as a result of trying and failing to make the yurt work in the last month we were there. Slow and steady really does win the race when it comes to a long term money strategy.
Starting small is so important, even when – perhaps especially when – you’re caught up in the excitement and adventure of a Big Idea. It’s not sexy, but neither is getting neck-deep in a huge project and realizing it was a very bad idea. As boring and time-wasteful as it would have sounded to yurt-crazed Amy, it might have been a good idea to try camping again for a weekend or two before deciding to live in a structure without running water.
Sometimes, we don’t have a choice in the big changes that life throws at us. But when we do, start small. Despite what Yoda says, not only is there usually a try between do and do not – it’s also a real good idea.
Thanks for riding the roller coaster with us. I’m confident, even as we learn, that it’s not slowing down any time soon. Tell me: what’s something you want to do but feels too big? What’s a small way you could try it out?
Love,
Amy